Vhero Iiife Is Real 




Helen Hale 




Book A zC iglM 



CopightN"—. 



I9 0& 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




The True Inspiration. 



(See page 8q.) 



Where Life 

Is Real 




CINCINNATI: JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 
NEW YORK: EATON AND MAINS 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Tvi'o Copies Received 

OCT 9A 1906 

^ Copyright Entry 
CLASS A f^-'-' Ni 






Copyright, 1906, by 
Jbnnings & Graham 



Contents 



PAGE 



The End of the Play, - - - - ii 

The Fulfillment, 17 

The Illuminated Hour, - - - - 21 

In the North Room, - - - - - 27 

Lost, - - 29 

The Space Between, 37 

Victory, ------- 40 

The Proving of a Man, - - - - 47 

When Love Misunderstood, - - - 52 

A Tragedy, _ - _ ... 61 

Waiting, ------- 64 

The Struggle, ------ 70 

The Crowning Gift, - - - - 78 

Her Story, 84 



Contents 



TAGK 



The True Inspiration, 89 

The Continual Shadow, . - - - 94 

ReAUZATION, .----- loi 

The Song in the Factory, - - - m 

Behind the Curtain, 119 

A Romance of the Juvenile Court, - - 127 

Redeemed, 136 

When Dreams are False, - - - 144 

Fate, 153 

Beside the Sea, - - - - - 161 

From a Hospital Ward, - - - - 171 

Love Eternal, 17S 



List of Illustrations 

The Trwi Inspiration, - - - Frontispiece 

FAGK 

**In A Hraj Before the Morris Chair," - 31 

** Real Story-book Sweethearts," - - 53 

**She Started Down the Dusty Road," - 73 

*«A Truly and Really Home," - - 105 

** At THE Door She Hesitated, - - - 123 

'*He was Naughty and Willful," - - 155 

The Lighthoxjse, - - • - - - - 167 



THE END OF THE PLAY 

The streets were dark and deserted, save 
now and then a belated pedestrian hurrying 
homeward. At a window in a two-story house 
that stood a little back from the street, a house 
with the quaint architecture of the long-ago 
stamped upon it^ a woman sat. The house 
had grown old with the years, the woman with 
the hours. Peering through the heavy lace 
curtains, sole relics of a past prosperity, she 
gazed out upon the small lawn that lay white 
and motionless in the arms of the last snow- 
fall, and down the street, small artery of a 
city's throbbing, pulsing life, that nov/ seemed 
hushed and quiet. Footsteps, some lagging as 
if their owners were in realms of fancy far 

away, footsteps that spoke of pleasant antici- 

II 



Where Life is Real 



pations and glad surprises, footsteps that 
seemed hollow and ghostly as though they 
mocked their owners' weariness, came up 
through the night and sounded their way In 
at the windows which, in spite of their heavy 
plate, rattled a weird welcome. The hours 
drifted slowly by, flotsam and jetsam of the 
passing year. A yellow moon leered mockingly 
from behind a cloud, which hung like a dark 
purple pillar in the eastern sky. Still the 
woman sat there. A sickly gas ray, that fled 
glad to escape from a near-by street lamp which 
stood a lonely sentinel of the night, stealing 
In at the window, discovered two diamonds 
glistening on the woman's cheek — diamonds 
that had fallen from feverish eyes, mute testi- 
mony to an agonized soul. The woman started, 
then sprang up as a squeaking cab rattling by 
stopped just beyond the house. With an Im- 
patient ejaculation the driver started the horse 
forward, turned him around and then stopped 
In front of the house. A large man backed 

12 



The End of the Play 



slowly out, then staggered up the walk with a 
long gray something in his arms. Two eyes, 
with the look of a hunted animal, and a pair of 
beseeching arms met him at the door. The 
gray blanket slipped to one side as he stumbled 
across the threshold, a white face fell forward, 
then nestled back again upon the broad shoul- 
ders. It was a girlish face framed in a wreath 
of yellow curls, with eyes of blue that now 
stared upward so vacantly, and a full tender 
mouth that spoke of kisses and tears. The face 
bore just the faintest suggestion of a smile, as 
though its owner had met death gently, bowed, 
and then passed on to a better something or 
somewhere. The woman, with a low, half- 
stifled moan, dropped limp and motionless in 
the hallway. The man crossed the unlighted 
parlor, sank slowly upon a divan with his bur- 
den, then dropped upon his knees beside it with 
clenched hands. 

Hattie was an only child, sixteen, full of 
life and action. Contrary to orders from a 

13 



Where Life is Real 



watchful mother to stay at home, she had 
slipped away unseen to the near-by home of a 
girl friend who had a birthday and a dollar. 
What fun it would be to spend the afternoon 
among the glittering sights of stage-land ! The 
gay fairies in tinsel and gold, the clown ele- 
phant, the funny comedians, the lovely music — 
what attractions! So, laughing and with joy- 
ful anticipation, they had skipped merrily town- 
ward to the large new theater with wide doors 
and huge stone columns, that proclaimed itself 
one of the finest in all the land, and beckoned 
invitingly to gay crowds of women and chil- 
dren, who streamed across its corridors, filled 
with the glad cheer and merriment of the holi- 
day season. Here came a party of Englewood 
high-school girls, all members of a little soror- 
ity, their eyes sparkling v/ith healthy excite- 
ment; here came a trio of dainty misses from 
Kenwood, proud debutantes, full of girlish 
small talk, and elated with the fruits and vic- 
tories of a first social season. Now come a 

14 



The End of the Play 



father and mother from Evanston, with their 
two children. The children had begged and 
teased, so the father had left his business for 
the afternoon to give them a little outing. 
Hattie and her young friend filed in with the 
rest, and up the stairway that led to the gallery. 
In two hours the high-school girls were 
chilled in a last sleep, the gay young voices from 
Kenwood had ceased forever, and a whole fam- 
ily from Evanston had been blotted out. In 
answer to an anxious telephone call Hattie's 
father had gone to the theater. Regardless of 
policemen struggling to keep back the rapidly 
increasing crowds, he had fought his way in 
and up the marble stairway. The dead and 
dying were piled on all sides. Groans and 
moans burdened the air. He dashed down the 
stairs, enlisted the services of a young man with 
a lantern, and returned in an instant. A burly 
fireman brushed roughly by him carrying a 
young girl; it was Hattie's little friend. He 
pushed his way onward and upward, and at last 

15 



Where Life is Real 



reached a top corridor, and there, sleeping 
peacefully at the base of a large marble column, 
he found his child. Hattle's life had gone out 
along with the life of the old year in the avv^ful 
fire that swept over the Iroquois Theater, leav- 
ing in Its wake the wreckage of broken hearts 
and broken homes. 



i6 



THE FULFILLMENT 

A GOOD many years ago, when Chicago was 
but a small city, there lived on what was then 
the outskirts of the town an old couple who 
had been trying all their lives to own a home 
of their own. Money was not any easier to 
earn and save in those days than it is now, 
probably a little harder; but after years of 
patient toil, many sacrifices, and never-failing 
hope, the dream of their life seemed about to 
be realized. The eve of the day came when 
the last payment upon the little home was to 
be made and the mortgage cleared off. The 
money which had been so hard to get together 
was in hand. The hearts of the old man and 
his wife beat high with joy and anticipation 
over the pleasure and satisfaction the morrow 

17 



Where Life is Real 



was to bring them. But, alas! on awakening 
the next morning they found that a terrific 
blizzard was raging. All around their home 
and far dov/n the road were great drifts of 
snow, which seemed like huge white enemies 
imprisoning them in the house. Any attempt 
to drive to the city with the money was out 
of the question. Transportation was very dif- 
ferent then from what it is now. The old 
couple were forced to abandon their plan and 
content themselves with the hope that the fol- 
lowing day would be more favorable for their 
trip. 

At four o'clock of that morning they were 
aroused from their slumbers by officers loudly 
knocking at the door, who, upon entering, fore- 
closed the mortgage upon the home by order 
of the man who held it. The tears, prayers, 
and entreaties of the poor old couple were of 
no avail, and there was at that time no pro- 
vision for redeeming property within a year. 
Consequently they lost their home and all the 
i8 



The Fulfillment 



money they had paid on it, and suffered many 
privations and hardships. 

Some years after this sad occurrence, a 
tragedy occurred on a West Side street of the 
city. A prominent business man, a millionaire, 
on a bitter cold night was awakened from his 
sleep by the unwelcome footsteps of a thief 
in his home. Creeping down stairs he followed 
the man into the parlor and attempted to cap- 
ture or kill him. The thief immediately fired 
and the man fell dead. 

The crime was one of the most mysterious 
that ever occurred In Chicago. The murderer 
was never captured, the police have long since 
acknowledged their inability to do so, and the 
hush of years Is falling over the tragedy. 

The man slain on that cold night was the 
man who foreclosed the mortgage. And then 
followed a series of troubles among his chil- 
dren. A daughter was divorced, and then in- 
volved in an affair which took her out of the 
country. Another daughter was divorced again 

19 



Where Life is Real 



and again. There were lawsuits between dif- 
ferent members of the family. In one of these 
cases the most astonishing revelations were 
made in court regarding the troubles of the 
home. The wealth accumulated through the 
years seemed to be a very curse. 

Long ago prophets lifted up their voices 
against the oppression of the poor and the weak. 
The world tries to relegate their warnings to 
the past; but in vain do men say, "Peace, peace, 
when there is no peace." Men and women still 
reap what they sow. 



20 



THE ILLUMINATED HOUR 

Into every life there comes at one time 
or another an illuminated hour. At such a 
time there is revealed to the soul, with sudden 
phosphorescent light, the purpose and the path, 
as it were, of their life. Happy are those who 
realize the wonderful meaning of this illumi- 
nation, and follow It as did the Wise Men the 
Star of Bethlehem. 

She was a happy, young Southern girl, ab- 
sorbed in the tender and beautiful preparations 
for the marriage to the man she had loved 
all her life. Just when only a few more sweet 
little things remained to be done, the sudden, 
awful news was brought to her that her lover 
had been killed. She did not die, neither did 

21 



Where Life is Real 



she lose her mind, because she was healthy, 
strong, and well poised. She simply lived, or, 
as she told me, existed, day after day, wonder- 
ing what was going to become of her. The 
opportunity finally came to her to take a school 
in a far-away Texas town, and realizing that 
she must do something to arouse herself from 
the numbness of her great sorrow, she accepted 
it. That was the first little gleam of light. 

The town in which she was teaching was 
dull, uninteresting, half asleep, with nothing 
about it to stimulate the imagination. There 
were, however, three children In her school who 
held a remarkable fascination for her. Un- 
consciously she began to weave little fancies 
and stories about them, and one eventful day 
they were sent North in the tangible form of 
a manuscript. When the brief notice of their 
acceptance came, there suddenly flashed through 
the deep shadov/s which had surrounded her 
for so many months a clear, bright light, which 
seemed to say to her, "Aspire, for the marble 

22 



The Illuminated Hour 



walteth." It was her illuminated hour. She 
did aspire and work, then waited. To-day, al- 
though still a young woman, she is one of our 
successful modern writers. Editors and pub- 
lishers clamor eagerly for stories, and yet more 
stories, from her skillful, versatile pen. 

When he was fourteen he was tossed out 
in the world to make his own way. He was 
first errand boy, and then stenographer in a 
lawyer's office. Finally getting tired of being 
ignorant, he began to read. Night after night, 
and at all spare times, he pored over the books 
and papers which came within his reach. It 
was his intention to be a lawyer, but one day 
the notice of a prize-story contest fell upon 
his observation, and needing a new overcoat, 
he decided to try his luck and enter the contest. 
The honor of winning the prize was his, also 
the satisfactory warmth of a new coat; but 
standing out above everything else was the shin- 
ing direction to follow a literary life instead 
23 



Where Life is Real 



of a career at law. He is now one of our most 
popular and promising young novelists. With 
the proceeds of his latest work he has built 
for himself a beautiful new house — one of the 
finest in the Hoosier capital. 

The years of her youth were far behind 
her. The once bright color in her cheeks had 
faded away, as had the roseate ambitions of 
happier days, while the golden gleams of her 
hair were changed to silver threads. The to- 
morrows of her life had become the yester- 
days. One after another her loved ones had 
been taken from her, until at last only one 
child remained, and upon this daughter she 
lavished all the left-over affection the others 
would have received had they lived. The little, 
irritating complaints and stabs, which so often 
come to the unselfish mother-heart when it is 
obliged to deny a beautiful young daughter 
certain little pleasures and fineries, had never 
been hers. A good-sized bank account had been 

24 



The Illuminated Hour 



the real silver lining to the clouds of her be- 
reaved life. 

But one day It all disappeared. Some one 
had been dishonest and nothing remained but 
"the might have beens." The beloved daugh- 
ter was in her third year at college, so valu- 
able treasures and cherished gems were sacri- 
ficed to give her the opportunity of finishing 
her education. At last came a letter In a pretty 
girlish hand, saying, as do many letters to 
mothers, "Mamma, I need a new suit. My old 
one Is so worn and shabby I can't wear It any 
longer." 

Then the mother had one of those sinking, 
empty hours which all of us have known. What 
could she do? she wondered. She had hoped 
and prayed something would happen to help 
them along, but nothing had happened. With 
a fixed, determined expression she went down 
to the office of a big and powerful newspaper 
and had an interview with the managing editor. 
What she said to him or his reply I do not 

25 



Where Life is Real 



know, except that she was given a most deli- 
cate and difficult assignment. When she suc- 
ceeded, she knew that a crisis in her life had 
come. With sudden, clear discernment, she saw 
the way to make a living for herself and be- 
loved daughter. She must give up pride, a 
comfortable home life and its seclusion, to be 
a newspaper woman. From a society reporter 
she has become an editorial writer whose opin- 
ions and influence enter thousands of lives. But 
while the old silver lining is returning, there is 
never a thought of leaving the life which is 
now hers. The illumination of that one hour 
will remain with her to the last. 



26 



IN THE NORTH ROOM 

She was a farmer's wife from a little town 
down in the State. Always delicate and weak, 
her strength had given away entirely. With 
many sacrifices, but desperate love, her young 
husband had brought her to a small hospital 
In this large city, and going there to see a 
friend one day, I by chance found her. The 
husband had returned to his farm, and she was 
all alone, with not a friend In all the great city 
to bring her a word of hope or a pretty flower. 

Something in her white, sad face touched 
my heart, and. Ignoring all rules of conven- 
tionality, I entered her open door, and going 
up to the little narrow, white bed, I said, "My 
poor sister, my heart goes out to you In your 
suffering; is there not something I can do for 
you?" 

27 



In the North Room 



She looked at me for a moment In startled 
surprise, then turning her face away, she com- 
menced to cry. 

"O," she sobbed, "I am so lonesome and 
tired. I have been lying here in this bed for 
five long weeks, with no one to speak to but 
the doctor and nurse. Not even the sunshine 
ever comes to my room; north rooms are 
cheaper, you know. I believe my room is the 
only room in the hospital without a flower in 
it, but no one knows me here or cares for me. 
My husband thinks it won't be long now before 
I will be able to go home; but the doctor said 
this morning he was afraid I would never be 
well again, perhaps never go home. Is n't it 
dreadful ? I have been lying here all day think- 
ing my heart would break if some one did n't 
come and speak to me. Do you suppose God 
sent you here?" 

My eyes filled with tears as I nodded my 

reply. There may be many others around us 

who are waiting for God to send them a friend. 
28 



LOST 

Have you ever watched a bright, beautiful 
butterfly beating its wings against some bar- 
rier, until at last, discouraged and hopeless 
over futile endeavor, It has dropped to the 
ground, never to rise again? You wondered — 
did you not? — ^why it had so entirely failed to 
perceive the little opening or crevice, through 
which It might have glided from oppressing 
darkness to the clear, blue radiance of the sky? 

I have been watching the struggles of a 
human spirit against that overwhelming anguish 
and despair which death leaves In a woman's 
heart when she becomes suddenly widowed. 

There was a funeral one day last summer 

just across the street from my home. A 

young man — a big fine fellow, a successful, use- 

29 



Where Life is Real 



ful citizen, a devoted husband — had become 
suddenly ill, and In three days was dead. 
When the slow, sad procession left the house, 
and the swinging badge of death had been 
removed from the door, I said to myself, "Ah, 
that Is the end!" It was, however, but the be- 
ginning of the end. 

Several hours later, near twilight, when 
the sidewalks and porches were full of gay, 
chattering people, eager for cool evening 
breezes, a solitary carriage drove up to the 
dark, silent house, and a little, black-robed 
figure entered It alone. It had not been very 
easy to open the door; the hand that held the 
key shook and trembled, while hot tears 
dimmed her eyes, but she was so anxious to 
shut out the world, with its mocking light 
and cruel voice. During the days which 
followed I saw her walking back and forth 
through her rooms, sometimes wringing her 
hands, sometimes standing dry-eyed before the 
portrait of the one she had loved the best 

30 




'Jn a Heap before the Morris Chair,* 



Lost 

of all, and then again throwing herself In a 
heap before the Morris chair — his chair, where 
he had always sat to read the papers, smoke 
his cigar, and listen to her bubbling chatter 
of the day's events. 

Of course she had always known, this beau- 
tiful, happy young neighbor of mine, that the 
hand of death Is everywhere. Had she not 
seen little rosy-cheeked children separated 
from mothers' arms, and fathers taken from 
homes which needed them so much, and weary 
old people laid to rest? But her beloved was 
so strong, so manly, so good. 

Death could never be so cruel as to still 
his warm heart and active mind. There were 
no pattering baby feet or sweet, chirruping 
voices in her home to comfort her. He was 
all she had. 

The warm, bright days passed slowly by, 
and there came cold, gloomy ones; but It mat- 
tered not to her sad, grieving heart. The sun 
had ceased to shine and the birds to sing when 
33 



Where Life is Real 



on that day she had laid her soft, quivering 
lips on his, and found them mute and stiff. 
Every evening she sat in her window, watch- 
ing the men come home after a day's toil, to 
the glad, loving welcome of their wives. She 
remembered how she used to sit waiting and 
watching for his familiar swinging stride and 
cheerful whistle; how he would bound up the 
steps, take her in his arms, teasingly pull 
a certain troublesome little curl which always 
fell over her eyes, and then how they would 
laugh and talk as if they had been separated 
days instead of hours. 

She tried to be brave, to be calm, to bear 
her terrible trouble, as had thousands of noble 
women before her, but always there was a 
dread, ingulfing feeling in her heart, as if she 
were being carried to a deep abyss. 

Sympathetic friends came to her with their 

little kindnesses and words of comfort. She 

listened to them as in a dream. They did 

not understand. *'God is love," this one said. 

34 



Lost 

*'You will see him again." "His spirit awaits 
yours in a better country." But her heart 
cried out in anguish for his personal exist- 
ence in this world, where they had been per- 
fectly happy together. It was his hand, his 
arm, his voice she wanted — so still she brooded. 

The sorrowful yearning of a breaking 
heart brought a little mist to the mind, until 
gradually It deepened and spread into a dark 
cloud. Only one thing remained clear to her, 
she must see him again; he could not, of 
course, come to her — it only remained for her 
to go to him. Long ago she had thought 
it a cowardly deed to take one's life; but it 
took some courage, after all. She tried to 
write a little note to her friends, explaining 
what she was going to do, but the words did 
not come very easily — -it was so hard to think — 
It did not make very much difference any way, 
because she was going to him who always under- 
stood and loved her. 

And so one morning, after they had left her 
35 



Where Life is Real 



alone for a little while, they returned to 
find that she had taken her own life. She 
had fallen, as did the beautiful butterfly, never 
to rise again. She had failed to discover the 
Great Light which could have brought her 
peace and comfort. 



36 



THE SPACE BETWEEN 

What a little space lies between happiness 
and sorrow. The other morning was bright 
and sunny; down the block an organ wagon 
was grinding out a merry, rollicking tune. The 
world seemed a very pleasant and comfortable 
place to live in after all, when there came a 
little timid knock on my door. On opening 
it I found a tall, gaunt woman standing there, 
whose face showed not only constant exposure 
to the weather's extremes, but also to the sad 
and hard things of life. 

She looked at me a moment in silence, and 
then said, "Madam, could I speak to you alone 
for a few moments?" I hesitated. Something 
told me the woman was honest and In trouble, 
but a woman's intuitions are not always her 
3 37 



Where Life is Real 



safest guide, especially in a large city. How- 
ever, she looked so anxious and worried that 
I bade her come in. 

She began her little story by inquiring if a 
certain Mr. lived in my apartment build- 
ing. I replied he had until a month before, 
and then had moved to New York. A look 
of despair came over her face, but conquering 
her tears — a habit she was becoming accus- 
tomed to — she said: 

"I am looking for my husband. My home 
is in Kansas, and I had been married five years 
when my husband became dissatisfied and rest- 
less. He decided to come to Chicago for work. 
For a while he wrote to me, but it is four 
months now since I have heard from him. I 
waited and waited until I could not stand it 
out there any longer. I was so desperate that 
I felt as if I must start out and hunt for him. 
The last clue I had was that he had gotten 

work with Mr. M , but now I do n*t know 

what to do. I have walked and walked, and 



The Space Between 



kept on hoping, even when everything seemed 
against me. He used to be good and steady. 
I can't believe he means to quit me. Do you 
think there Is any one in this city who can help 
me find him? Where do you suppose he is, 
and what will become of him?" 

The dejection, the sadness of the woman's 
voice were indescribable. I advised her as best 
I could, hoping that God would help her where 
I could not. 

But the question is still in my mind: 
"Where is he, and what will become of 
her?" 



39 



VICTORY 

On his twenty-fifth birthday he felt as if 
he could well sigh, like the great Alexander, 
for more worlds to conquer. He had finished 
his college course by receiving the highest 
honors the institution offered, won the adora- 
tion of the students, the friendship of the fac- 
ulty, and the admiration of the entire town. 
His college life had been a series of triumphs, 
small when measured by outside standards, but 
sufHciently significant to dower him with self- 
confidence and determined assurance. The 
rarest triumph of all he had expected to come 
immediately after Commencement, when the 
loveliest girl in the world, whom he most ar- 
dently loved, would promise to marry him. But 
that anticipated hour of exultant joy had been 
40 



Victory 

one of throbbing misery. Instead of sweet 
words of endearment, she had drawn a chair 
to some distance and told him with maddening, 
far-away eyes and a smile that was tantallzlngly 
reminiscent, of her engagement to another man, 
whose existence he had never, even with un- 
comfortable vagueness, suspected. The girl 
possessed remarkable histrionic ability, and dur- 
ing the four years of their friendship had suc- 
cessfully simulated all the beguiling ways and 
heart charms of Love Itself. He had been 
cruelly deceived, and he thought his life was 
wrecked. 

Abandoning his original intention of study- 
ing law he hurriedly accepted a position to 
teach in a small college on the extreme West- 
ern coast. Then he found that the distance 
of a continent did not separate him from his 
memory of her; only by getting away from 
self could he forget. Desperate, reckless, 
plunging Into dissipation anaesthetized the vital 
part of his sorrow; but, as a deadly sponge, 

41 



Where Life is Real 



it absorbed honor and ambition. When his 
resignation was requested he returned to the 
East resentfully anxious that the girl he had 
once cared for should see some of the devas- 
tating results of her flirtation. He thought to 
be avenged, but the girl was so occupied with 
parties and new gowns that she only had time 
to call him a fool. 

I^estless and bitter, he accepted the position 
of insurance agent in a small town in Vir- 
ginia, where he hoped the gentle mantle of 
oblivion would be dropped over his true name. 
Half-starved and ill, he fell unconscious one 
day upon the porch of a family who, accus- 
tomed to doing good in the byways and hedges 
of life, were all the more friendly and kind 
in their ministrations to the needy one brought 
to their own door. They had hearts of gold, 
and there was no alloy in their charity. For 
several weeks he lay in their pretty guest-room, 
alternately tossing in the wild delirium of fever, 
or motionless In the heavy calm of stupor. He 
42 



Victory 

had loudly besought Death, who continually 
hovered In the elusive shadows of the room, 
to come closer, and be his friend; but, with a 
curious smile and mocking shrug of the shoul- 
der, the grim figure ignored his outstretched 
hand and passed from the room. 

When the crisis passed, the sick man awoke 
to find what appeared at first to his dark- 
accustomed eyes a beautiful ray of yellowest 
sunshine slowly rocking by his bed. It was 
the little golden-haired child of the household, 
who told him, with the confiding sweetness of 
childhood, that she knew he was going to get 
well, because she wanted to tell him all the 
wonderful stories she had been making up about 
him. He noticed that she innocently omitted 
any reference to his possible past, but wove 
delightful little fancies and dreams for his fu- 
ture. 

She became a pleasing diversion; but sin 
makes such a deep abyss In the human heart 
that only One who Is divine can fill in all the 
43 



Where Life is Real 



dark crevices. The day for His work began 
when the little one found pinned to the foot- 
board of his bed the penciled words, "God is 
No Where." She looked at it with puzzled 
intentness, and then at the invalid with amused 
wonderment. "Why, you ignorant man," she 
exclaimed, merrily, "you can't spell: you have 
put the W in the wrong place; see, this is 
where it belongs," and she held up the changed 
sentence which read, "God is Now Here." 

After all, not half the sermons of His little 
angels have been told. 

With God now in his heart, and the little 
girl's bubbling command in his ears to "go 
out West and get very, very rich," he took 
up a claim in Colorado and roughly knocked 
together a miner's shack for a home. Occa- 
sionally he wrote to the little girl, and his 
letters were as sparkling and enthusiastic as 
the little stream which ran near his cabin. 
There were vivid descriptions of the moun- 
tains' mighty grandeur, the wonderful echoes 
44 



Victory 

of the canyons, little stories of the thrilling 
uncertainties in mining when various claims 
were prospected, planned, dug, and doubted. 
Nothing was said of unfinished ditches, pur- 
poseless shafts, untenable pits, and abandoned 
engines, nor of the aching poverty of his life, 
without congenial companionship or well- 
cooked food. The Interior of his home was 
not described, except the one piece of decora- 
tion on the walls, which was a planed board 
with the painted inscription, "God Is Now 
Here.'* 

After ten years of unceasing toil his vein 
developed such high-grade ore that an Eastern 
syndicate bought It at a splendid price. When 
the money was deposited In a bank he sat down 
on his cracker-box chair and wrote page after 
page to "the dear little girl" — for so he always 
called her. But the letter was not sent, neither 
was the check of five figures, which he had made 
out In her name, for, to his surprised mind, 
came the remembrance that the little girl was 

45 



Where Life is Real 



a young woman now almost a stranger. Not 
trying to control his overwhelming desire to 
see her, he traveled again to the South. 

If the little girl was lovely, the woman 
she had become was everything a man's heart 
could ardently long to possess for his own. 
Without revealing his identity he wooed her, 
and in time she found in his caressing eyes 
pictures more beautiful than in her gallery of 
dreams. The difference in their ages w^as noth- 
ing to her, because she loved him with that 
complete worship which some women give to 
a man many years their senior. 

At the wedding last month the guests caught 
a glimpse of heaven in the eyes of the two, 
who loved each other, and no one doubted but 
that God was there. 



46 



THE PROVING OF A MAN. 

"A WORD Spoken in due season, how good 
Is It!" 

When he announced to his mother that he 
Intended to be a newspaper man, she started 
suddenly from her chair, but as he explained 
to her, with enthusiastic expressions and still 
more eloquent silences, how much the life of 
a journalist meant to him, she sat back pale 
and quiet, feeling In her heart one of those 
dull, sickening sensations which have the power 
to bring either a pathetic droop to the mouth 
or a hard glitter to the eye. Afterwards, when 
he told her that his new work would compel 
him to leave their comfortable but rather re- 
mote suburban home for a room nearer the 
office — how cheerless the word sounded! — her 
eyelids quivered, and she prayed hard for two 
minutes. She knew that at last the time had 
47 



Where Life is Real 



come when she must give up her son to the 
world. He had been such a good boy, so hon- 
estly clean in all his ways, so tender, which is 
a rare quality in any man; but how long as a 
reporter for a big city daily could he keep un- 
sullied and sweet? Would not the incessant toil 
and strain of the life, its unhealthy excitement 
and temptations to so-called "good fellowship," 
be too much for the boy whose only fault was 
a will too easily led? Just one little weak spot, 
but she remembered the story of Achilles and 
Siegfried, — how Achilles' heel did not get 
dipped into the fluid which made his body in- 
vulnerable, and how a leaf rested between Sieg- 
fried's shoulders, so that one tiny spot was not 
bathed in the liquid which protected the rest of 
him. One was killed by a wound in the heel, 
the other by an arrow which struck between 
the shoulders. If only her lad v/ould put on 
the whole armor of God, there would be no 
weak places to succumb to the enemies of good- 
ness. 

48 



The Proving of a Man 



The boy began his chosen career, rooming 
In the home of a kind physician, who keenly 
sympathized with all the hard jolts he re- 
ceived, and generously appreciated his little 
*'scoops." The men at the office called him 
the *'kid" — his face was unusually sincere and 
frank, he was so childishly eager to do their 
bidding and flatteringly Impressionable concern- 
ing the veracity of their reminiscences. The 
work was pretty hard, and, to his surprise, 
seemed to be getting harder all the time. The 
men teased him about his drooping spirits, told 
him he would not last long on the staff If he 
did not brace up, bade him be a "good fellow" 
and join them for a "time," and finally per- 
suaded him that the only way to do real clever, 
brilliant writing for a newspaper was now and 
then to take a glass of something stimulating. 
If he could have seen his mother oftener, and 
received her loving sympathy when he was 
jaded and discouraged, he would probably not 
have commenced to drink. 
49 



Where Life is Real 



Before long the doctor and his wife heard 
the boy falling upstairs to his room at hours 
later than reporters usually kept. Two or three 
nights he did not come in at all. One day, 
when he did not start to work until late in the 
afternoon, after a morning spent in bed with 
a sick headache, the doctor called him into his 
office. ^'My boy," he said, firmly, "do you 
know you are going to the bad?'* The boy 
stared with wide, bloodshot eyes, but made no 
reply. *'No person living can keep up the pace 
you have been going and amount to anything. 
Do you think it is going to pay you to be a 
drunkard, break your mother's heart, and be- 
come another piece of flotsam and jetsam, to 
be kicked aside at every turn by a hard world? 
The only thing for you to do is to leave that 
newspaper office. There can not be any com- 
promises for you, because you are not as yet 
a thoroughly equipped soldier." As the boy 
still sat motionless, the doctor laid a kind hand 
on his shoulder. "I know, lad, you are all ab- 
50 



The Proving of a Man 



sorbed in the work, so I '11 tell you what to do, 
but promise you will follow my prescription, 
for that is what we 'II call it. Keep on at the 
office if you feel that you must, but live at home 
with your mother. Make it a point to catch 
the last train every night; remember, do n't you 
ever miss it, and see if you can meet your 
mother's wise and tender eyes as you used to 
do. If you can without giving her the least 
bit of pain, God will bless you in your work. 
Let me hear how you get on. Will you do so?" 
The boy promised, packed his trunk, and 
left the house. Two months later the doctor 
received a letter from him dated in Idaho. 
"You were right, doctor," it read; "that life 
was too much for me, and I am glad you opened 
my eyes. I am now private secretary and gen- 
eral utility man for a big mining engineer out 
here — am living forty miles from the railroad, 
but mother says she would not mind a little 
thing like that, so she will be out to spend the 
summer with me. Hurrah!" 
51 



WHEN LOVE MISUNDERSTOOD 

She was the daughter of the richest farmer 
in the county, and although her father's money 
seemed to his old-fashioned point of view an 
obstacle to ideal happiness he found, as have 
many others, that theories fall quickly under the 
powerful scythe of Love. In reality they had 
been, even as little children, real story-book 
sweethearts, that is, they had always walked to 
school together — he proudly swinging her bag 
of books — she rejoicing in the delicious cake or 
fruit she could share with him at recess. He 
helped her through the difficulties of arithmetic 
and built her a wonderful doll house which did 
not fall apart for several weeks. She wrote 
most of his compositions and made him a Sun- 
day necktie from pieces of her best dress. Later 
when he arrived at the dignified age of long 
52 




'Real Story-book Sweethearts." 



When Love Misunderstood 

trousers and did not have to ask permission to 
go fishing with **the fellows/' he liked to lie 
on his back In the woods and think of her. 
What did it matter If the sky was a rare pale 
turquoise, If the birds stirred eagerly over their 
house-bullding, If the first butter-cups were 
growing under his hand or shining fish leaped 
daringly before him, when he could only think 
of her. 

It was not until she was eighteen and her 
parents had decided to send her East to school 
that the perfect understanding of their hearts 
was expressed In words. Hitherto they had 
always accepted the fact that happiness meant 
being together. He had known that she with 
her lovely little ways, impulsive moods, and 
merry sweetness could strengthen and content 
him beyond the reach of thought, and she re- 
alized dreamily that she would rather sit alone 
and think of him than be with any one else. 
During the four years they were separated she 
was digging and delving Into studies which were 
A 55 



Where Life is Real 



to him only a name, incidentally learning to 
dance and make "fudges," while he was scat- 
tering seeds over broad fields, patiently waiting 
for them to come forth into yellow waving 
wheat and ripe splendid corn, and finally gather- 
ing them all into a yawning storehouse. Every 
day letters passed between them which made his 
work lighter and her dreams sweeter. 

Two months after she graduated her father 
built her a picturesque house on the young man's 
farm, but further aid was stiffly declined. The 
first months of their married life seemed a 
period of time too beautiful to be written about. 

Alas, if only the beatific hours of life could 
be caught and held in a firm grasp, if we could 
be strong where we are weak, if our souls could 
ascend the heights we sometimes see in visions! 
In one year something as subtle and elusive as 
the blight which may come to the fairest of 
flowers, or the cloud which can darken the 
brightest day, was destroying the happiness of 
the young couple. He began to be worried over 
56 



When Love Misunderstood 

his crops, to spend every daylight hour in the 
fields, to sit silent and weary In the house, to 
forget the little ardent expressions of love which 
were so dear to her. The second year two 
babies came, instead of one, and the young 
mother learned what it was to lose hours of 
sleep, to rock one baby until she could have 
screamed with nervousness, and then walk with 
the other until she could drop from fatigue. 
The smile which once had been so Irresistible 
was put away, as were many other things which 
helped to make her charming. Although the 
music in their lives was very faint, there was 
no discord until she began to break one of the 
first promises she had made to him, which was 
never to ask her father for money. When he 
discovered her deception he said harsh, bitter 
things and she replied more cruelly, until one 
night he wandered away. He did not acutally 
mean to be a coward, but he was tired, desper- 
ately tired of everything, and his soul was sick 
within him. 

57 



Where Life is Real 



A week after his disappearance his hat and 
coat were found on the bank of a large river 
close by, and, although his body was never re- 
covered, the entire town believed him dead, and 
a year later her father erected a stately monu- 
ment to his memory. In the heart of the deso- 
late woman there existed, unchanging and sub- 
lime, hope that the man she loved with all the 
faith and devotion of a resurrected passion was 
alive, and would some day return to her. When 
three years later there came, in unknown but 
suggestively disguised writing, a letter urging 
her to claim the life insurance, that hope became 
conviction. Little peculiarities in the penman- 
ship were identified as being individual to him. 
After that she would not even discuss the ques- 
tion of going home to her father's. She must 
live the life her husband planned for her, sup- 
porting herself and little ones — thus atoning for 
the unkind things she had said to him. 

He had been gone five years when she re- 
ceived the letter she had prayed to her God for 
58 



When Love Misunderstood 

so many lonely heart-breaking nights, telling her 
if she wished he would come to her at once. 
The letter was dated from Galveston, which 
he had reached a few weeks before the fatal 
storm that became history, and where he had 
remained ever since working with the crushed 
despairing ones spared by the awful calamity, 
and, as she afterwards found out, building a 
true and lasting monument in the hearts of his 
fellow-men. Between him and a young minister 
in the struggling city there developed one of 
those beautiful friendships so rare among men, 
and when the Master's servant had heard the 
other's story he lost no time in showing him his 
duty, which, after all, was his heart's desire. 
The train which carried him North seemed 
to creep — why did it stop so many times where 
every delay meant moments lost from the para- 
dise awaiting him? When finally the little 
home he had often seen in his dreams was 
reached it was midnight, but from an upper win- 
dow there gleamed a light. With a run and 

59 



Where Life is Real 



bound he had reached that more perfect light 
which ever shines from a loving woman's face. 
Two tender arms were flung toward him, and 
a voice vibrating with the rapturous expectancy 
of love said softly, "It is all right now, dear 
lad!" 



60 



A TRAGEDY 

Have you ever stopped to think what sad 
tragedies arise from simple, almost insignificant 
causes ? 

In one of our Northern States a few months 
ago a large and influential university had just 
brought another successful and prosperous year 
to a close. The students had scattered to their 
various homes. The professors were planning 
for the summer and the long-looked-for rest 
which they so urgently needed. In the home of 
Professor J all was excitement and antici- 
pation. A little castle in Spain, or, in more 
exact language, a summer home for the family, 
had just been purchased, and the necessary ar- 
rangements for taking up a temporary residence 
there had been completed. One can imagine 
with what delight the members of this happy 

6i 



Where Life is Real 



family awaited the day when they could leave 
the hot, dusty town and hurry away to the cool 
and shady nooks of the quiet, peaceful country. 
With what care and thrills of pleasure was each 
necessary article selected for the new home! 
What merry discussions, and perhaps strenuous 
arguments, were held over the different things 
which **just had to be taken along !" 

Then the goods were packed and shipped 
on ahead to the nearest station, where arrange- 
ments were to be made by the head of the fam- 
ily for their final transportation. 

Two good-sized wagons were ready for the 
little group when they stepped from the train. 
In the smaller and lighter one of the two Pro- 
fessor J placed his wife and youngest chil- 
dren, gayly bidding them go ahead and get 
there first, in order to have a "welcome home" 
for him when he should reach them. 

The other contained the larger and heavier 
pieces of furniture. On the front seat sat the 
driver and the eldest son. 

62 



A Tragedy 



Behind them, on the cooking-stove, sat the 
professor, endeavoring with all his might to 
steady Its falling propensities, because, as he 
laughingly declared, "although it was not a 
thing of beauty it was quite necessary to the 
joy of living." The driver cracked his whip, 
and the proud little procession started. 

Up and down the hills they rode, some- 
times over smooth roads, but oftener over rough 
places. Suddenly the wagon gave a great lurch, 
the cook-stove tipped over, and with it the pro- 
fessor, who fell down under the heavy wheels, 
and before the frightened horses could be 
stopped the wagon had passed over his body, 
forever extinguishing a bright, strong life. The 
^'welcome home" which he had expected from 
his loving wife was never to be In this world. 
With tears of grief his many friends heard the 
sad news, and the great stream of life flowed 
on with its ebb and flood of joy and sorrow. 



63 



WAITING 

A FEW miles out from the center of the 
city, but In a neighborhood closely settled with 
eager, busy life, there stands a large red brick 
building, quaintly conspicuous for its remote 
style of architecture and the fact that within 
Its walls seventy old ladles have reached their 
last earthly home. To the thoughtless passer-by 
the building Is "just another institution," with 
no need for sadness in the thought when the 
city is so full of them; but to one v/ho believes 
it a blessed privilege to look upon other lives 
besides their own, there is occasion for wonder 
and pity at the sight of this Old Ladies' Home. 
What stories of heartaches and tragedies, what 
mysteries and romances, could be told by the 
white-haired ladies sitting In their small rooms 
or feebly walking up and down the long corrl- 

64 



Waiting 



dors as they wait for that gentle summons of 
the only Father now left them, who soon will 
take them, one by one, to the real and lasting 
home He has been keeping for them so many 
3^ears ! 

The day of their wedding was as perfect 
as they expected the union of their lives to 
be. He was a rich young banker, well able 
to give her the finest home in that small East- 
ern city, and she was beautiful and proud, 
even as proud and commanding as he had 
always declared the woman he chose for his 
wife must be. He had never cared for small, 
timid women, and she was tall and resolute; 
the fact that she was poor affected him not 
at all, because intuitively he knew that she 
considered she was giving far more than 
she was receiving. For fifteen years they 
lived together, and not once did they cease 
to be thoroughly interesting to each other. 
It was her proud spirit alone which made 
such an ideal condition possible. With her 

65 



Where Life is Real 



marriage vows she had determined, with all 
the strength of an unalterable will, that her 
husband should never find her a failure even 
in the lightest evasive meaning of the word. 
She had swayed the society of the city with 
such charm and originality that her entertain- 
ments became traditions. She had conquered 
even unknown enemies, which proved to them 
she was an unusual woman. After the birth of 
her son and daughter she had turned her will a 
little more seriously upon her husband's busi- 
ness, because she wanted her children's future 
assured of material blessings. 

His sudden death was a great shock to her, 
and the world thought she was almost heart- 
lessly brave. They did not know how many 
years his loss was to be to her a live, unyield- 
ing sorrow, which even her stanch proud heart 
bowed helplessly to, in the long lonely hours 
of the night, and felt with sudden poignant 
pain in the midst of a crowd. She had one 
supreme passion and interest in life, and that 
66 



Waiting 



was the future of her children. For them 
alone she thought, planned, and resolved. Too 
ambitious, she risked a part of her fortune 
in an Investment which proved to be only 
a delusion. This blow was a severe one, 
but later in the same year another occurred 
which almost took the ability to weep away 
from her. The young daughter just sixteen — 
beginning to show the fresh elusive beauty of a 
spring flower — met with one of those hideous 
accidents which leave the victim blighted in 
mind and body. 

The proud mother retired a little from the 
unbearable, pitying eyes of the world, and aban- 
doned herself to the sublime task of compen- 
sation, endeavoring with all the marvelous love 
of a bruised mother-heart to make up to the 
daughter — still a child — the joys she had lost. 
At her direction the son adopted a business 
career, and always, when following her wise 
suggestions, he was successful. Alas for the 
''might have beens" which form human history! 
67 



Where Life is Real 



In a moment of mistaken independence he failed 
to follow one of her suggestions, and all of 
their money and property were lost. When he 
fully realized that his mother and helpless sister 
were penniless he had not the courage to see 
them again alive. It was his mute dead face 
which asked his mother's pardon, and though 
it was hard — her God alone knew how hard> — 
it was granted. For several years she struggled 
bravely along in tiny rooms. For the daugh- 
ter's sake she humbly accepted the timidly of- 
fered ministrations of friends. The anonymous 
gifts, the dainty lunches, the bowls of soup, 
were only received to keep the crippled one 
alive. If her capricious, delicate appetite could 
be tempted, what matter if she lay awake at 
night faint from nourishment? 

When at last thoroughly convinced that the 
Home for Incurables could do more for the 
beloved child than she could, she gave her up. 
Then a round of patient, unceasing visits to 
officials followed until permission was received 
68 



Waiting 



to live at the Home also. At last the daughter 
died, and the mother was left alone. 

Unable to support herself, and too proud 
to live year after year upon the bounty of kind 
friends, hov/ever tactful, she decided to enter 
the Old Ladies' Home. A senator in Wash- 
ington sent her at this time a check for the 
entrance fee. He had been a college chum of 
her son, and ^'believed" he had once borrowed 
this sum from his friend. 

To-day, although eighty-six years of age, 
she walks through the parlors and halls of the 
Home with erect carriage. Her head is still 
held high, her chin is as determined as ever. 
Never once does she allow old age to interfere 
with the careful daintiness of her attire. In 
every line of her figure and tone of her voice 
she suggests the grand lady who has submitted 
with royal acquiescence to the calamities of her 
life. When death at last approaches her he 
will find not only a woman but a queen await- 
ing his coming. 

69 



THE STRUGGLE 

Most of us are apt to consider success a 
tree filled with rich fruit, which now and then 
drops on some fortunate passer-by a delicious 
plum. We regret that it did not occur to us 
to stand under the tree at the same time the 
lucky one did, and catch a prize in our basket. 
But success, in reality, is a tree with such slip- 
pery bark that one who would climb it finds It 
very much easier to fall back than to go up- 
wards, and on its branches are sharp thorns 
which cruelly wound, and even on the topmost 
limb, when about to seize the coveted prize, 
a hostile wind may suddenly hurl the persever- 
ing one back to the ground. If, however, the 
ambitious soul attains his desire, we consider 
only the result of his labors Instead of the 
struggle, 

70 



The Struggle 



Down on the farm everything was peace- 
ful and quiet, as are most Sundays in the coun- 
try. The farmer was lying on the old sofa 
in the sitting-room, taking the one afternoon 
rest he allowed himself during the week. His 
wife, deeming it a luxury only permissible on 
the "Lord's Day," had opened the front par- 
lor, carrying with her the two weekly religious 
papers which she had been saving on the clock 
shelf for this hour of enjoyment. The young 
daughter sauntered slowly along the path 
toward the sloping orchard. It was the one 
place when her home seemed unbearable and the 
longing unrest in her heart could not be quieted. 

It was here that the silk on the dis- 
tant stalks of yellow corn looked to her 
like the golden-tangled hair of little chil- 
dren; while the brown and yellow bees 
made love to the ruddy clover, which blushed 
a deeper hue under their sweet kisses; and 
the wild flowers played in riotous abandon 
with the long meadow grass. Ah, yes! she 

5 71 



Where Life is Real 



was right; it was the best place on all the 
farm to have fancies and dreams; but the 
time had come when nothing but fulfillment 
could satisfy her desires. It was not enough 
to come out to the orchard and have duets 
with the merry robins. The sweet echo of her 
voice as it trilled and caroled to happy birds 
nesting In ]?ar-away trees did not content her. 
She must sing to another audience; she must 
triumph over circumstances, and not let circum- 
stances baffle her. That was the only way to 
grow and to reach the Kingdom of her Heart's 
Desire. 

With a new resolution and plan just begin- 
ning to form in her mind she hurriedly re- 
turned to the house for her sunbonnet, and 
then started down the dusty road. When she 
reached the town she went to the home of the 
only banker in the place. As she had hoped, 
she found that gentleman of means sitting on 
the porch. Taking off her sunbonnet, but 
not permitting her host to bring another 

72 




*She Started Down the Dusty Road. ' 



The Struggle 



chair, the girl sat down on the railing and 
began with trembling lips but eyes that flashed 

fire: "Mr. B , I want to leave the farm; 

I want to go away from this town to Boston 
where I can study music, and I want — O, Mr. 
B , 1 want you to please loan me five hun- 
dred dollars." The banker sat up very straight 
and whistled. What was the girl talking 
about? She began to swing her bonnet nerv- 
ously, but continued: "Every cent of the money 
will be paid back, also the interest, because I 
am honest and because I shall work so hard 
that I can not help but succeed. Will you not 
give me my chance?" The girl was not pretty, 
but she possessed a personality. It told the 
financier many things she was not able to ex- 
press in words; but being a man of convictions 
instead of moods and impulses, he only looked 
at her steadily, and said: "This is not the day 
for business. Come to my office to-morrow 
morning, and we will talk over your plans." 
The next day the girl arose before day- 
75 



Where Life is Real 



break, finished her work, and again took the 
long walk to town. Two hours later, with the 
banker's check in her hand, the same distance 
seemed to her a shady grove filled with heav- 
enly music. 

The first year in the East was a strange 
and delightful one, yet at its close came an 
overwhelming disappointment. Her teachers 
agreed that it was a mistake to cultivate the 
small voice she possessed, but urged her to give 
all her time to the piano. 

The second year was a hard one. It took 
more self-denial than she had dreamed of to 
make the borrowed money extend over the re- 
quired time, and the knowledge that she had 
only made a beginning in her art was not 
exactly comforting. After two years of house 
work in the banker's family the first debt was 
canceled, and another five hundred dollars was 
borrowed. The next two years in Boston 
were industrious ones, but the reward was a 
diploma and a year's scholarship at a foreign 
76 



The Struggle 



conservatory. The European trip had to be 
postponed until enough music lessons were 
given to enable her to settle the final obliga- 
tion with the banker, but eventually she did 
go abroad, not once, but several times. Fifteen 
years have elapsed since that illuminating hour 
in the orchard, and If she has not attained 
world-wide fame, nevertheless her place in the 
music circles of this city is a coveted one, and 
she is still plucklly reaching after the choicest 
fruit on the tree of success. 



n 



THE CROWNING GIFT 

Her home had always been in a Missouri 
mining town, where with her mother, grand 
father, and six younger brothers and sisters 
whose names were changed every year to suit 
the pleasures of "Mam,'* who "Grandpap" de 
clared was ''fearful foolish-like for excitement,' 
she helped to run what was known as "The 
Pinnacle Eating House." It was "Mam's" 
privilege, after she had pronounced with much 
staccato eloquence to each new boarder the 
names of her children, to add the amazing news 
that her eldest daughter had never cried but 
twice in her life. The fact that she was accus- 
tomed sentimentally to monopolize that Fount 
of Tears which unfortunately belongs to every 
family, she ignored mentioning. The miners, 
78 



The Crowning Gift 



however, felt no need for this bit of lachrymose 
intelligence, for, though their faces were gener- 
ally grimy with coal-dust, their sight remained 
unclouded, and the vision of "Mam" washing 
the dishes with tears, or literally swimming 
across the tattered pages of "Beyond Pardon," 
furnished them a daily comedy. 

But somehow they never wanted to chuckle 
when "Mam" with circumlocutory pride related 
the details of her daughter's two surrenders to 
disappointment. They had occurred before the 
child was ten years old. The first barb in Sor- 
row's arrow cut deep into the little, ambitious, 
but obedient heart. It was when "Grandpap" 
told her she could not be spared from home to 
get any "school larning," but must "become 
suited with something else." She did not know 
how that could be until Bill Cass, with a heart 
as big as his boots, helped her to read and 
write from the newspapers which the men kept 
wrapped around their tobacco. 

The second barb left a scar in her heart. 
79 



Where Life is Real 



It was when she had bought with pennies, so 
long saved as to be almost worn out with kisses, 
a bar of pink soap which was to satisfy the 
aesthetic craving of her nature and fragrantly 
cleanse the rough black hands of the miners. 
Laughing loudly the men had rejected the gift, 
and even "Big Bill" could not console her, for 
he too had failed to understand the rare unself- 
ishness of the child. 

After that occasion she never gave way to 
tears. When exhausted with heavy work and 
longing to abandon herself to emotions long 
suppressed, she would hurry to the woods, 
where in profound silence and shadow, shut out 
from human association, she would lie close to 
the throbbing heart of Nature and pour out all 
her griefs and hopes to the Divine Father. At 
twenty she married Big Bill, because he had 
always been kind to the children, coming nearer 
than any one else to understanding her dreamy 
nature, and because she had mistaken the little 
glow of gratitude which came to her lonely 
80 



The Crowning Gift 



heart when he asked her to marry him for the 
deep fire of lasting love. Through two years 
of her wifehood there was a smile on her 
lips, Bill was always kind, and a sob in her 
heart. One day Bill disappeared, and two hun- 
dred dollars of the Missouri Miners' Union 
could also not be found. With true heroism 
and beautiful loyalty to a man she had never 
loved, she hung up a sign, "Washing Wanted," 
and went to work to refund the lost money. It 
was not until every penny had been paid that 
she discovered "Big Bill" had forfeited his life 
in guarding the money carefully concealed be- 
neath his leather belt. 

The next event on her soul's calendar — for 
do we not measure time by our emotions ? — was 
at an entertainment given In the unplastered 
church of the town. A young man had read 
some poems and shown a few pictures, but In 
their simple beauty there lay the power to re- 
veal to her the radiant light of a new pur- 
pose, which was to change her entire Hfe. 

8i 



Where Life is Real 



Why could she not write down some of the 
visions and fancies which came to her some- 
times In the woods? Looking Into the lives 
of the birds and the clouds she had heard a 
pathetic song, from the golden-legged bee she 
had listened to gentle lyrics, and down In the 
heart of the wild flowers where the pistil and 
stamens nestled closely together she had seen a 
love story. 

When her book of love and dreams went 
to find a publisher she sent with It In her Igno- 
rance a small picture of herself. The book 
was too crude and imperfect for publication, 
but one of the readers saw with the assistance 
of the Independent fearless eyes, but tender, soft 
mouth of the author, glimpses of real talent. 
He was a man who had run almost the whole 
gamut of human experiences. In his early 
youth he had been the blackest sheep of the 
town, to make a living he had entered the min- 
istry, and because his salary had not been paid 
regularly and his heart was full of sin, he had 
82 



The Crowning Gift 



embezzled trusted sums, and was consequently 
sent to the State penitentiary. The change of 
environment had effected his redemption, and 
as the alert and brilliant critic of a large pub- 
lishing-house he had successfully lived down his 
past. 

Deciding personally to return the manu- 
script to the small Missouri town, he was able 
to meet the fine ambitious woman who had sent 
it. The trials of her life had never been able 
to absorb the exquisite sweetness of her nature, 
and as he helped her revise and correct the book 
he found her personality had taken complete 
possession of his heart. When he told her she 
was in all the world his true beloved, her eyes 
for the third time In her life filled with tears, 
and, holding out her hands to him, she cried: 
*'0, my dear one — at last I have found some 
one I can love utterly, whose soul Is knit to 
mine. Together we will write the book of our 
hopes and dreams." 



83 



HER STORY 

The other morning I looked at life through 
the eyes of a deaconess, a gentle, sympathetic 
little woman, whose sweet face, so becomingly 
framed in the modest bonnet and snowy tie, 
quite won my heart. 

"Tell me," I asked, drawing my chair up 
close to hers, "something about life, just com- 
mon, every-day life, as you see and hear it in 
the many homes and institutions you visit." 

She looked out of the window a few mo- 
ments before replying. What sorrowful scenes, 
unhappy stories, pathetic incidents, were passing 
through her mind? I wondered. Did she ever 
grow weary in well doing? Were all the sacri- 
fices, self-denials, and hard work really worth 
the while? 

84 



Her Story 



And then she began to tell me about her 
work; how happy she was in it; the great need 
of more workers; how she often wished she 
never had to take the time to eat, sleep, or rest, 
because always some soul was sinking down, 
down, down, when a little touch from some lov- 
ing woman's hand might save. 

As she talked a tremor came to her voice, 
bright color to her cheeks, and that glad shin- 
ing light to her eyes, which is only caused by 
some deep inward happiness. 

"It is hard to believe," she said, "that there 
are many, O so many, people in our city who 
are hungry all the time. I have known men 
for weeks to eat not a single whole meal, but 
only now and then a few scraps begged on 
the street or pilfered from some store. I 
know a man who lived alone in a garret, a 
cripple, vv^ho subsisted for weeks on five cents 
a day. Then there was a small boy who came 
once to one of our free Thanksgiving dinners, 
who, because he was so hungry — it was the 

85 



Where Life is Real 



first big meal of his life — ate so much that 
he lay ill in a hospital for days, in a delirium, 
hovering between life and death. Another 
case I recall was of a man who told me he 
was hungry, and to whom I gave a ticket to 
a restaurant where our institution has a con- 
tract to feed men in such distress. His pale 
face and gaunt figure appealed to me, and I 
went with him. After finishing one of those 
large Rvc course 'regulars' of Third Avenue, 
he still looked so longingly at the empty plates 
that I suggested he begin again ; and once more 
he commenced with soup and ended with pud- 
ding; and yet a third time did he go through 
the menu. He was more than hungry, he was 
starving. 

"The sorrow of the children might fill vol- 
umes. Think how little joy and happiness 
there Is in the lives of many of them. We 
took a crowd from one of the slums last 
summer to a park picnic. It was the first time 
one of the little girls had ever seen Lake 
86 



Her Story 



Michigan, a flower, or a plot of grass in her 
life, or even had a ride of any kind. After- 
wards we gave that same child a short outing 
on a nice big farm. We were amused, yet 
touched, to discover, when meeting her at 
the train, a little brown egg clasped in her 
hands. She explained she wanted her mamma 
to see an egg that a hen made all itself. 
You would be surprised to see what a won- 
derful, intense love some of our poor, little, 
ragged, dirty boys have for flowers. One of 
our deaconesses in the Halstead Street dis- 
trict has found that she can manage a rough, 
noisy crowd by giving them bright, red gerani- 
ums. They guard them very jealously, and 
wear them even after they are old and faded. 
"The ragged, almost naked, condition of 
some of the poor can not be exaggerated. We 
found once an old woman — an invalid for six 
years — who had not had a whole pair of stock- 
ings in that time. Two bright little girls in 
one of the Sunday-schools could not be induced 

87 



Where Life is Real 



to take part in a little drill because they were 
ashamed to get upon the platform barefooted 
and without any underwear on. Another case 
was that of a family who had once been re- 
spectable, but who had fallen so low that when 
their only support — a young newsboy — died, 
they kept him in the house for days, too proud 
to call in any one who could see their poverty 
and wretchedness." 

As I listened to the stories of this "minis- 
tering angel" I thought regretfully of the nar- 
row, selfish, empty lives so many of us are lead- 
ing. We seem to be always waiting for some 
great occasion, some direct revelation, when our 
hands, our brains, our hearts are needed every 
day in this world around us. 



88 



THE TRUE INSPIRATION 

When she graduated from the village high- 
school her family drew a breath of relief and 
satisfaction. They had never thought It pos- 
sible that she, with such a frail constitution, 
could complete the long hard course. Had they 
not watched her slight, stooped figure wearily 
walking back and forth each day to school, fear- 
ing that every step would be the last? Had 
they not seen the ambitious girl bending over 
her books late In the night, unmindful of throb- 
bing head and strained eyes? But at last the 
long tension was over. The school-work had 
come to an end, and she could stay at home to 
be coddled and petted to their hearts' desire. 
They would see to It that no more strain or 
6 89 



Where Life is Real 



hardships came to her. She should be their 
dear invalid whose health and comfort were 
their constant thought and loving desire. 

For a few days after Commencement the 
young girl seemed quite content to lie on the 
couch, swing idly In the hammock, or drive 
around the sleepy, soothing little town. But 
very soon the family noticed a restless desire 
for change. She seemed to be discontented, un- 
settled, and made several unexplained visits 
away from home. One day she suddenly arose 
from the easy chair, and said, with startling 
energy and determination : "Please give me your 
attention, dear people, for I have an important 
announcement to make. I am going to be a 
trained nurse. I have talked it all over with 

Dr. C , and he says If I can get a hospital 

appointment. It will not hurt me to try it for 
three months. Do not refuse to let me go, for 
my whole heart and soul are in this plan." 

The family gazed at her in amazement. 

Was their daughter losing her mind? 
90 



The True Inspiration 



Did she not herself need nursing and care- 
ful attention? 

Why, the idea was too absurd to notice ! 

So the summer passed by. The girl grew 
pale and silent, and finally settled Into a de- 
spondent lethargy, which all their love and solic- 
itude could not change. Nothing aroused or 
interested her but new cases of Illness In the 
village and the manuals and guides to nursing, 
which she had sent for. 

The family recalled when she was a child 
that only the sick dolls, not the well ones, 
interested her. They remembered with what 
calmness and real skill she had bound little 
cut fingers of playmates, and how once she had 
begged to nurse two of them who had the 
measles. 

Finally the glrFs drooping spirits made the 
family uneasy, so the doctor was sent for. 
After he had left they realized with vague 
comprehension that their "Invalid" was to 
go to a nurses' training-school in a near-by 

91 



Where Life is Real 



city. A new color came to the girl's cheeks, 
a new happiness to her eyes, as she made the 
necessary preparations for departure. 

The day after reaching the city she eagerly 
and joyously started for the hospital. Her 
heart beat with tenderness and sympathy as 
she was shown through the wards of suf- 
fering ones. How she longed to be among 
them, soothing and healing! She knew what 
it was to grit teeth, clench the hands, and 
turn the head to the wall as waves of pain 
swept over one. Her whole thought and 
aim in life was to stand between, men, women, 
and children and pain. 

Four weeks passed slowly by before her ap- 
plication was accepted. No society debutante, 
no young bride, ever donned the all-important 
gown with more thrills and quivers of delight 
than did this young girl her plain striped nurse's 
dress. No queen could be prouder of her 
crown than she was of her little white cap. 

It was no easy vocation she had undertaken, 
92 



The True Inspiration 



but never did she become hopeless and discour- 
aged. The regular hours and the required ex- 
ercise, of course, did much to make her strong, 
but the satisfaction and happiness in knowing 
the dream of her life was being realized made 
the once delicate, weak girl a useful and strong 
woman. She had found a place for herself in 
life, and many a poor, suffering one has mur- 
mured words of gratitude and blessing over her 
soft, gentle ministrations. 



93 



THE CONTINUAL SHADOW 

"There are certain sayings," began one of 
the ladies sitting on the porch, "which we hear 
so often that we lose their full meaning. From 
constant repetition their significance has become 
dulled. Now take, for instance, the saying, 'In 
the midst of life we are in death.' Of course 
I have heard that since I was a child and vaguely 
realized its truth every time I looked in the 
daily paper, but the real force of the words was 
brought home to me last winter in such a start- 
ling manner I can never forget it. 

"It was a very cold night, and my little 
girl and I were alone, my husband having 
gone out of town for a few days. As we 
lived in a first-floor apartment I was some- 
what nervous and had retired early. At half- 
94 



The Continual Shadow 



past eleven — I looked at the clock to be exact — 
I was aroused by some one knocking loudly 
on my hall door and a man's voice crying, 
*Open this door at once and let me in. Hurry! 
Hurry!' I got up and lit the gas, but felt 
too timid to let a stranger in my home at 
that time of the night. You know to what 
lengths of daring thieves can go, so I thought 
this was one of their schemes to entrap me 
into opening the door. Any way I felt that 
I must wait and see what would happen next. 
After the knocking ceased I heard the man 
run around to the front window and tap on 
the glass, calling, 'Have mercy! Have pity 
and open your front door. I am in terrible 
trouble.' 

"With a courage born of the moment I 
threw on a lounging robe and hurried into 
the outer hall. There stood a little old man, 
his face blanched and terrified, his whole body 
trembling with some strong emotion. 'O,' 
he cried, taking hold of my hand and leading 
95 



Where Life is Real 



me to the building's entrance. 'Come quickly. 
She Is lying out on the stoop — my wife — I 
do n't know what Is the matter.' On the steps 
I found a sweet-looking old lady, with curls 
as white as the snow which they lay against. 
When I lifted up her head and she made no 
sound or movement, I, too, became frightened 
and told the old man, who was standing by 
wringing his hands and calling her by en- 
dearing names, that we had better carry her 
Into the house. It was not hard to do so, be- 
cause she was a very small, frail woman. 

"After laying her on the bed I rang up a 
doctor, and while waiting for him to come the 
old gentleman explained that they lived only 
around the corner, and had been spending the 
evening In the block below with some old 
friends. They had enjoyed themselves very 
much, and were merrily plodding along through 
the snow when his wife with just one cry of 
pain sank down on the walk unconscious. He 

had gotten her up on my step, but could not 
96 



The Continual Shadow 



arouse her. It was such a brief little story 
he told me as he sat beside the bed, patting 
his beloved's hand and stroking her hair, while 
all the time the tears were falling down his 
quivering face. When the doctor came and 
made an examination with the stethoscope, he 
uttered only one word, but its poignant mean- 
ing caused the old man to fall on his knees, 
crying with broken heart, *My dearest, my dear- 
est! You have left me all alone!* " 

For a few moments there was perfect si- 
lence on the porch. Each of the ladies looked 
steadily down at her embroidery, except one 
who never did fancy work, but who could 
prove by the ink-stains on her fingers that 
they were not always idle. "I, too," she said, 
leaving the hammock and drawing nearer to 
the group, "had a sad experience last winter 
which again proves the truth of that saying. 
It occurred when I was new In journalistic 
work and thought it all perfectly lovely and 

97 



Where Life is Real 



exciting. I did not anticipate then anything 
harder than a *call down' from the city 
editor, or a request to interview some one who 
positively had nothing to say. Neither did 
I dream of the time which was coming when 
I could not sleep at night for thinking of the 
dreadful stories and tragic sights which had 
come to me. 

"One day I was sent on an assignment to 
investigate what was being done for the 
Foundlings of the city. Through police sta- 
tions, 'baby-farms,' and asylums I went to 
gather material for the story. It happened 
in one of the latter institutions — a big well- 
known place, whose name I must not tell for 
fear of prejudicing you. I was upstairs in 
a large room where there were almost a hun- 
dred little ones. Some were crying, some were 
asleep, and some were busy with their bottles. 
There was one baby, however, who was doing 
none of these things. She was lying quite 
still, her great blue eyes staring up at the 
98 



The Continual Shadow 



celling. The beautiful color of her eyes re- 
minded me of the little girl I love the best 
of all, and so impulsively I leaned over the 
white crib and caressed her tiny cheeks. It 
was such a piteous little smile which met 
my own, and somehow I could not help but 
say to myself, 'O, why does not some one 
love this little dear heart and give It a home?' 
The nurses In the room were all busy, the 
baby looked at me so wistfully that I made 
up my mind I would love her for ten min- 
utes and cuddle her to her heart's content. 
I drew a low rocker up to the fire and un- 
covered to the warm blaze the wee feet which 
felt so startllngly like Ice. At first the little 
head moved feebly on my arm; once or twice 
I heard a soft moan, and after a while it lay 
very still. Thinking it had gone to sleep, I 
kept on gently rocking back and forth. One 
of the nurses passing by said, 'It is a good 
thing that child 's asleep. It has n't had very 
much of a hold on life.' Not two minutes 

99 



LOFa 



Where Life is Real 



afterward another nurse came up to look at 
the little one. Her face turned suddenly pale, 
but she gave me a kind glance as she said, 
'Madam, the baby is dead. Let me relieve 
you.' 

"When I gave up the little foundling who 
had died in my arms I could only say softly, 
*It has a home now. Some one loves it at 
last.' " 



lOO 



REALIZATION 

To THE passer-by it was just a large, ordi- 
nary moving-van, brick-colored, with high white 
letters, driving slowly up to a small apartment 
building on a side street, but to the laughing 
young woman leaning out of the bay window 
on an upper floor the huge wagon was a vehicle 
of the most vital significance. Every spoke in 
Its wheels, every letter of the owner's name, 
seemed to possess a live importance, and no 
gorgeous fairy chariot could have appeared to 
her half as beautiful. For two hours she had 
been sitting on the window-sill in her tiny parlor 
or dancing a two-step across the bare floor with 
her little daughter, while she waited for the 
great wagon to come, which was to carry her 
household treasures away. 

lOI 



Where Life is Real 



As she watched each article of furniture 
carried down the steps, sometimes a happy tear 
or two came to her eyes, sometimes she chat- 
tered gayly to the little child beside her, or 
gave a direction to the men below, while all 
the time she breathed hard from the excite- 
ment which thrilled her. What if something 
should happen to that beloved piano before 
the two big darkies could get it safely off 
their backs and into the van? Of all their 
belongings she knew her husband cherished the 
piano mostj because he could while away on 
its keys many an hour of rest and diversion. 
It was all the same to him, rag-time or noc- 
turne, if he could only forget the annoying per- 
plexities of his work. If the piano did not 
afford him the relaxation he wanted, there was 
his banjo, and certainly, with a pile of pillows 
under his head and some old college melodies 
to sing, he could then find enjoyment. 

Yet dearer than all else to the young woman 
was the heavy box of books standing on the 

I02 



Realization 



pavement. She had wanted to apologize to 
her treasures for keeping them even tempo- 
rarily in such dark, ugly quarters, because, to 
her, books were human. Had they not com- 
forted and amused her when other friends had 
proved faithless or stupid? Never had she 
allowed a glass door to her book-shelves, for 
to preserve in "cold storage" anything as 
necessary to her daily living and enjoyment 
would have been really absurd, If not cruel. 
Beside the books stood her desk — a shabby, 
feeble piece of furniture; but as a delicate 
child is ever closest to the mother's heart, so 
was she fond of it, and in every curve and 
corner there lurked memories which she could 
never forget, and would not if she could. Old- 
fashioned, yes; but all the lessons of her col- 
lege life had been studied before it, and the 
love-letters to the man who best satisfied her 
were written on it, and the happiness of living 
in a world of her own creation had come 
from It. 

103 



Where Life is Real 



Among the last things to go into the wagon 
was their pretty dining-table, and a shining 
mist came to her eyes as she watched it. 
How closely it represented all the love in her 
happy married life! The exultation she had 
felt when, after several weeks' illness, she could 
resume her own place and once more pour her 
husband's coffee, equaled the pride of a queen 
on her throne; but more joyous than any other 
hour at the little round table was the time when 
the baby — their own little baby — could sit up 
in a high chair with them and be one of the 
family. 

At last, when all the goods were in the van 
and It moved heavily down the street, the 
young woman pulled the little child close to 
her. "Just to think. Precious," she cried, "all 
our things have gone to a truly and really 
home of their own. Do n't you think they 
ought to shout and sing as they ride through 
the streets away from all the smoke and dirt? 
It Is so fresh and clean out In that pretty 
104 




^Jsmt-Mi 



Realization 



suburb where they are going. The grass and 
trees are really green and not a make-believe 
color, and the flowers have the fragrance God 
intended they should have. O, do n't you ever, 
little heart of gold, give up dreaming dreams; 
for sometimes, if you wait long enough, they 
come true. Almost the sweetest dream mother 
ever had is going to be realized to-night, for 
then you and father and I will be living in a 
home of our own." The little child laughed 
too, for when mother was happy the sun shone, 
the birds sang, and the whole world was as it 
should be, for mother was the whole world to 
her. 

Laughing and dancing the two went through 
the small flat, and as she pulled down the 
shades and locked the doors the young woman 
talked to the child in the monologue fashion 
many mothers adopt who are much alone with 
their little ones. 

*'Can you really believe, sweetest, that we 
are not going to live on this perch any longer? 
7 107 



Where Life is Real 



that we do not have to exist another single 
day in what is only a round to a ladder? We 
would rather not stay quite so near the skies 
yet, or have such a close acquaintance with 
the man in the moon, and we prefer a differ- 
ent environment from street-cars and clut- 
tered back-yards of stores. Often we would 
like a little fresh air without having to put 
on our hats and gloves and walk the streets 
for It. It would be more comfortable also to 
cross the streets without wishing we had taken 
out an accident policy on our lives. We know 
we would feel cleaner if our clothes could 
hang out to dry just once In the beautiful 
bleaching sunshine instead of in a dark base- 
ment. We want our own front door and our 
own roof; yes, we want our own place In this 
dear old world, and not be annexed to families 
whose names we do not know. O, mother's 
child, just once more you are going to hear 
what we will have at that blessed little home 
we are going to to-day. 

io8 



Realization 



"First, because you never played in one 
before, there is the yard, and no one will scold 
if you do run on the grass. You shall have 
a wee flower-bed, and you can buy the seeds 
for it to-morrow with the pennies you have 
been saving, and mother is going to have a 
garden too. She won't spend quite as much 
time on hers as did the lady across the ocean 
called ^Elizabeth,' but she will love every 
tiny blade of green she finds in it. Father is 
going to have some chickens — why, we may 
make a farmer of him yet! Then we will 
have a long porch, with a hammock for you 
to rock the dollies in between times; and in 
the top of the house there is a great attic 
for you to play in with your little friends on 
rainy days, and perhaps when you are a young 
lady we will have a regular story-book chest 
up there, filled with old satins and brocades. 
In our living-room (we won't care for a par- 
lor) we are going to have the biggest fire- 
place and on cold winter nights we '11 turn 
109 



Where Life is Real 



down the lights and see the sweetest stories 
In Its crackling blaze. O, baby, baby'* — and 
the young woman's voice trembled — ''are n't 
you glad this is n't just a story mother is tell- 
ing you, for we do want the real sometimes 
instead of the make-believe? Yes, we are going 
now — at last." Then the door was shut, and 
the young woman and little child went quietly 
down the stairs. 



no 



THE SONG IN THE FACTORY 

It was a lovely spring day. The sun shone 
so warmly and brightly that one could not help 
thinking of what he would soon do — drawing 
out the tiny buds, grassy blades, and fragrant 
flowers with his balmy and sweet persuasive- 
ness. 

But in that large factory on the northwest 
side of the city there was little to suggest the 
coming of spring's carnival, unless It was 
that the dim, grimy windows were wide open 
for the first time In months. The atmos- 
phere of the shop-room where seventy-five girls 
were making pants for a down-town store 
seemed even more close and stifling. The 
noises of the outside world mingling with the 
never-ceasing throbbing of the engines and shrill 
clatter of the mighty wheels made an Indescrib- 
able din. 

Ill 



Where Life is Real 



At a machine which stamped on hundreds 
of buttons a day sat a young girl whose 
shabby dress was hidden by her long, checked 
apron. Only her American nationality and the 
startling expression of weary unhappiness on 
her face particularly distinguished her from the 
Polish and Italian girls gathered in the room. 
While the others rushed through their work 
with no time for outdoor scenes, a glance at the 
clock, or even at each other — for they were 
working by the piece, and each lost moment 
meant one lost penny — this young girl listlessly 
lingered over every article she picked up. 
Sometimes her hands fumbled clumsily, and 
again they were quiet. Once the inspector 
spoke to her sharply, but the only result from 
his words was a deepening of the expression on 
her face. "O, what's the use?" she said to 
herself; *Svork, work, work! Nothing but 
work! Where does any fun come in? Pa 
would get drunk just as often, even if I slaved 
my fingers off; and ma — ^well, I never thought 

112 



The Song in the Factory 



she would become quite so lazy. Wonder if 
anything could arouse her! Time was when 
washing, tidying up the house a bit, and having 
something decent cooked for me when I got 
home, was n't such a terrible hardship to ma. 
I guess she thinks there ain't no use doing things 
any more, but I really thought she 'd be mad 
when I told her Barry Holmes had asked me to 
go to a dance down at Logan's Hall to-night. 
Used to be she 'd say she would rather see me 
dead than go with a fellow like him. Guess 
ma 's changed a whole lot since pa lost his place 
and took to drinking instead of finding another 
job ; for all she said this morning was, 'Suppose 
you '11 go. It 's kind of hard for girls not to 
have any good times!' Hard! I should say 
It was. But it ain't dances and shows I 'm 
hankering after as much as it is to get away 
and forget things for a while. Wish I could 
forget this old shop and all the poor meanness 
of living, for just a little while." 

In the midst of the girl's discontented, bit- 
113 



Where Life is Real 



ter reverie the first warning sounds of the noon 
whistles began to blow. When the steam in 
the noisy shop-room was turned off, the other 
workers made quick hungry movements toward 
their little newspaper-covered bundles of lunch. 
This girl opened hers contemptuously. She had 
seen the pieces of bread ma had sawed off with 
a dull knife, and had smelt the butter with 
which this was spread. She thought regretfully 
of the red apple she had meant to buy at the 
fruit-stand, but had forgotten. 

Suddenly there was a surprised silence in 
the room. The door had opened, admitting a 
sweet-faced young woman, followed by one of 
the factory engineers carrying what seemed to 
be a large, black box, but which disclosed a 
tiny organ. With a friendly smile, which 
seemed to be at every girl in the room, 
the young woman announced that she was 
from the near-by Association House Settle- 
ment, and had made arrangements with the 
superintendent of their factory to permit her 
114 



The Song in the Factory 



to come once a week during the noon hour to 
get acquainted with them. Sometimes they 
would have a little song service together; 
again, some friend who had been across the 
ocean would tell them of the sights and 
wonders in foreign lands, or perhaps some 
one would read aloud an interesting story. 
After she had told them of the purpose and 
aim of the Association House, of its girls' 
club, and of the welcome each of them would 
always receive there, she asked her astonished 
listeners if they would like to have her sing. 
With the memory of the gay, rollicking 
songs they had heard in concert halls and on 
the streets the girls gladly assented. As the 
beautiful music of that sweet voice floated 
out through the room, the girls sat very still 
to catch every word of the wondrous song, 

" I have a Friend, O such a Friend! 
He is good, so good to me." 

The face of the girl near the button-machine 
brightened. This was the best music she had 
115 



Where Life is Real 



heard for a long time, she thought. There was 
something very appealing In the tremor of the 
singer's voice; quite soon the lovely meaning 
of the words echoing now so softly through the 
room brought a rush of warm, tender feeling 
to her heart. Something tightened In her 
throat ; she choked back a sob, but somehow she 
felt happy. 

When the one o'clock whistle started the 
steam again, the young woman put the organ 
under the table and went away. The girl 
stamped on buttons through the long afternoon 
as one In a dream. At six o'clock she handed 
m her work and started home. She remem- 
bered she had promised to meet Barry at the 
corner and tell him whether she would go to 
the dance. She did not exactly want to go, but 
home was not very pleasant. She thought she 
would just walk by this Association House and 
see what It was like. As she was about to turn 
her steps, a winning voice cried out, *'Are you 
going my way?" It was the noon visitor. As 
ii6 



The Song in the Factory 



they walked along the streets, the young woman 
chatted merrily about the Association House 
and all they did there, while the girl listened 
wistfully. Suddenly the speaker stopped and 
said with a charming appeal no one could re- 
sist, *'By the way, to-morrow is my birthday, 
and I have the privilege of Inviting two of 
my friends to dinner and to spend the even- 
ing with me at the House. Won't you come, 
and bring a sister or friend?" Instantly a 
gleam of radiant hope came to the girl. "I 
would like," she said hesitatingly, "to bring 
ma, if you do not mind. She does not get In- 
vited out much," and she did not add, "nor 
do I." 

Speeding homeward she had only a word 
for Barry waiting Impatiently at the corner. 
"Can't go to-night. Ma and I have an en- 
gagement for to-morrow night, and we '11 be 
busy getting ready for It after dinner." The 
thought of the changes she would have to 
make In her wardrobe, of the errand down to 
117 



Where Life is Real 



Milwaukee Avenue for a new lace collar to 
cover ma's old black satin waist, prevented her 
from noticing Barry's angry look. 

Whether it was the new light in the girPs 
face, the pleasure of an invitation to dinner, 
or the relief she felt that her daughter did 
not go to the dance, which caused "ma" to 
straighten up the house the next day, we do 
not know. She said it was to have a clean 
place to spread out their party clothes. 

The evening spent at the Association House 
was a revelation to the discouraged daughter 
and despondent mother. The sight of the 
clean, bright rooms, the serving of the well- 
cooked dinner, the atmosphere of industry, 
kindness, and good fellowship, opened a new 
and happy page in their lives, from which it 
IS to be hoped they will not turn back. 



ii8 



BEHIND THE CURTAIN 

Never, she said to herself as she stood in 
front of the long glass studying the lovely lines 
and curves of her form in the new gown, had 
such a radiant face smiled back at her from the 
mirror. What did it matter any way if she was 
almost thirty-five — that dread age when women 
can only pretend to possess the youth which has 
slipped away from them ? She had never found 
it necessary to begin any of those tyrannical arts 
and pitiful subterfuges which but accentuate a 
woman's acquaintance with the grim jester, 
Time. To her the moment had not arrived 
when she was grateful for some one's chance 
remark that she looked young. There were 
exactly five white hairs hidden away among her 
119 



Where Life is Real 



many brown ones ; but as long as she could count 
them — well, they did not count at all. And that 
curved wrinkle around her mouth — ^why, that 
was only a tiny sign-post to a merry disposition. 
She knew that her world would continue to ex- 
claim over her youthful appearance for many a 
day, just as they would unconsciously look their 
admiration. What was it, she wondered, lean- 
ing close to the glass, which caused friends joy- 
ously, and enemies helplessly, to admit she was 
"a charming woman?" To be sure her contour 
was rarely good, and it was easy to smile — her 
teeth were even and white — but was there not 
something deeper, which came perhaps from the 
heart, and could not be affected by the years, 
that made her attractive to all? 

"If ever you were sweet, irresistible, and 
altogether charming, my friend, please be so 
this afternoon," she whispered, nodding to the 
dark head before her, '^because he is down-stairs 
on the porch waiting for you after two long 
years." The last words quivered on her lips 
1 20 



Behind the Curtain 



while she steadied herself against the dresser 
trying to calm the rapturous thrill which made 
her entire body tremble as she recalled the ex- 
quisite anticipations that had, she felt, kept them 
near to one another through the long silences 
of those months of separation. 

Her husband had been dead two months 
when she first met the man down-stairs, and be- 
cause the pain of her widowhood came from the 
mind Instead of the heart, she was able to realize 
all that his eyes and voice desired to teach her. 
But — and Is It not a woman's noblest Instinct 
to place the man she loves on the highest pin- 
nacle of goodness, even though she is content 
to remain human and idolatrous? — she had sent 
him from her. Her soul, however, had be- 
sought his to remain true and loyal through the 
days they were to remain apart. She was nat- 
urally gay and thoughtless, and, like all Im- 
pulsive persons, much given to dangerous ex- 
periments with human nature, but all that was 
best within her demanded the highest of the 

121 



Where Life is Real 



man she loved. She would have him keep faith 
with the spiritual as well as the temporal por- 
tion of existence. 

At the door of her room she hesitated, look- 
ing down at the golden pledge on her finger, 
which had united her to the one who was dead. 
Yes, it was right to lay it aside now — if only 
she could place with it the memories of other 
days. She was jealous and regretful that she 
could not give all to him. There had been noth- 
ing tragical, or even keenly intolerable, in the 
years of her married life. As an impatient 
young woman, wearied with being her own 
breadwinner and irritated, so she thought, be- 
yond endurance with miserable economies, she 
had accepted a rich wooer's bank account and 
his twenty odd years of seniority. What other 
wish could she ever have than to be protected, 
adored, and indulged? Alas! the adoring one 
had all the usual whims and caprices of a self- 
indulgent man, and the knowledge had come to 
her with the poignancy of soul-loneliness that 

122 




"At the Door She Hesitated. 



Behind the Curtain 



life did contain more exquisite joys than cash- 
ing checks. 

When she had finished her communion with 
herself she started quickly down the stairs — to 
hear again his voice with its slow drawl, to see 
his tender, worshiping smile, and watch the little 
familiar gestures she with love's accuracy re- 
membered. Ah! could she bear the happiness 
of it ? The very atmosphere when he was near 
seemed to vibrate to the music that their hearts 
were one. The thought of the joyous years of 
harmony before them illumined her face with a 
divine glow. Through the long low windows 
of the parlor she saw him rocking on the 
veranda. Just for one moment she would stand 
behind the curtain and see him as he was — 
unconscious of her proximity. Woman-like, she 
wanted to revel in his ardor and impatience for 
her coming. As she reached the window his 
head was turned toward the approaching steps 
of some one on the pavement. There was in his 
face something which suddenly arrested her at- 
3 125 



Where Life is Real 



tentlon. Was it the new lines around the mouth 
or the sensuous curve to the lips which gave him 
that subtle, evil expression? When he leaned 
eagerly forward in his chair, was it not his en- 
tire personality which gave her a feeling of fear 
and dread? She parted the curtain to watch 
him more closely, but saw instead a woman, 
with all the beauty artistic skill could devise, 
whose past was quite as improbable as her future 
was impossible, slowly passing the house. Be- 
tween her and the man on the porch there 
quickly flashed a look of mutual understanding 
and amusement. Pale and shivering, the woman 
at the window sank slowly to the floor, feeling 
in her heart that emptiness which comes to all 
human souls when love is dead, and looking at 
last — ^yes, old. 



126 



A ROMANCE OF THE JUVENILE 
COURT, 

Emily's father had died when she was a 
baby, and her mother had lived until she was 
eight years old, two years after they had 
given up their little cottage in the town for 
the big white house at the County Farm. 
The memory of her mother was rather vague 
and distant, as If through a shadow she 
saw her hovering around the kitchen fire, 
drawing her faded blue-and-white shawl closer 
around her quivering, hollow shoulders after 
a terrible paroxysm of coughing. Sometimes 
she remembered her mother would go into the 
large, bleak, dining-room, put her head down 
on one of the hard deal tables, and sob for 
hours. The superintendent's wife said that her 
127 



Where Life is Real 



ma took on so because she was a pauper, but 
Emily did not think this was the reason. She 
thought it must be because the coughing hurt 
her so, and the blood came on her handkerchief. 

Then came a day which Emily never quite 
forgot. She had been standing at the sink help- 
ing old Aunty Doane peel the turnips for a 
boiled dinner when the superintendent's wife 
came out to her and said, wiping her eyes with 
a kitchen apron, "Well, Emily, your poor ma 's 
gone at last, and better off she '11 be there than 
here." Of the days which followed her 
mother's death Emily had no remembrance, ex- 
cept that she had been very lonesome and 
wished some one would kiss her when she went 
to bed. Her mother had always done so. 

When she was nine years old the second 
important change in her life occurred. Mrs. 
Chester, who occasionally drove out to the 
County Farm with papers for the old ladies 
and tobacco for the men, asked her to go 
home with her and be her own little girl. 
128 



A Romance of the Juvenile Court 

Why she wanted her Emily did not under- 
stand. She did not know of the wistful little 
droop of her mouth, or the pathetic petition 
of her eyes for love. Neither did she know 
that, packed away In one of Mrs. Chester's 
trunks, were tiny white dresses with pink bows 
and baby pins, with *'Mary" engraved on them. 
Long afterwards she learned that the truly 
strong souls lock their sorrows away In some 
secret place, and then lose the key so that they 
may never be tempted to bring them out to 
light. 

The years at Mrs. Chester's were happy 
ones. Every one was very kind to her. Bob, 
Mrs. Chester's big step-son, used to take her 
to school, and In the evening help her with her 
lessons. No one could have been kinder to her 
than Bob, she used to think. There was noth- 
ing he would not do for her, and even Mrs. 
Chester had learned to make all her requests 
of Bob through Emily, for then she knew they 
would be granted. It was Emily who got Bob 
129 



Where Life is Real 



to stay away from the "White Elephant," the 
only saloon in the town, and it was for Emily^s 
sake he ceased his frequent visits to the near-by 
city where there were more saloons. 

And so when Emily was twenty, and Bob 
teased her to marry him, and Mrs. Chester's 
eyes were filled with the entreaties she had 
not the courage to voice, Emily consented to 
do so. She was just like thousands of girls 
who, tender, ardent, and susceptible, are in 
love with love, and think because they have 
inspired a great affection they must recip- 
rocate. The first few months of their mar- 
ried life were even happier than Bob had 
promised they would be. There was only 
one thing she would have had different, and 
of that she was really ashamed. Bob's eyes 
were black, and she loved gray eyes. Her 
mother's eyes had been gray, almost blue, 
but with the chill taken off, and she remem- 
bered a boy who had dropped out of her class 
the last year in school whose gray eyes had 
130 



A Romance of the Juvenile Court 

little lights and gleams in them which made 
her heart beat quickly whenever they looked 
into her own brown eyes. She was sorry he 
did not graduate in her class, but his father 
had died suddenly, and he had to help his 
mother run their farm. 

It was only a year after Emily married 
that Mrs. Chester, with a smile of perfect 
sweetness and joy, fell into that long sleep 
which has no awakening in this world. With 
the little she had left them. Bob and Emily 
moved to the city, where Bob could go into 
business for himself. In a few months the 
first baby came, and as it grew and thrived 
the business dwindled and sank. Two or 
three times they moved, and began over again; 
but success, which is ever so elusive and tanta- 
lizing, failed to come within reach of their 
grasp. 

Bob began to be moody and talk pessi- 
mistically about the world being against them. 
When his eyes were newly red and bloodshot 
131 



Where Life is Real 



he would talk with vociferous incoherence about 
good times coming and the things he would do 
by and by, but like all bacchanalian promises 
they never reached fulfillment. The result of 
his exchanging his overcoat for internal warmth 
instead of external was pneumonia, and when 
that dread disease takes hold with relentless 
grip there is only one ending. 

At the close of the first week of Emily's 
widowhood the second baby came, and then 
began the most terrible six months of her life. 
The money left her was gone, the business was 
gone, her strength was gone, and after a few 
more pieces of furniture were gone she sup- 
posed she and the children would go too. She 
had read that, after the first pangs, starvation 
was not such a painful death. Once only in all 
those long, awful months did she wish to live. 
It was when, about dusk, she was hurrying 
along a crowded street with the dollars which 
represented a little enameled watch Mrs. Ches- 
ter had given her, clasped tightly in her feverish 
132 



A Romance of the Juvenile Court 

hand, that she saw, standing on a corner, a tall 
figure whose gray eyes had always been dearer 
to her than even her own heart would admit. 
Her first impulse was to run to him and pour 
out all her sorrows; but with the thought that 
she was nothing to him, came pride and the 
sound of Bob's last words, "Be game, Emily, 
my girl. Be game I" 

The day the last piece of furniture was sold 
she locked the door and drew down the shades. 
What was the use of being game with Death? 
Did he not always conquer? The neighbors. 
Ignorant yet kind-hearted, had tried with the 
feebleness of poverty to help her. Then some 
one with a remembrance which was divinely 
opportune thought of the juvenile court which 
would not let children starve anyway. As If 
in a dream, Emily read the notice to appear on 
a certain morning In Judge M *s court- 
room and explain her destitute condition. Apa- 
thetically she permitted the neighbors to care 
for her until then, listening with dry eyes and 
133 



Where Life is Real 



benumbed heart to their talk about foundlings' 
homes and other institutions where little ones 
were sent when their mothers could not care for 
them. 

When the day of the summons from the 
court came she went with the babies to the big 
court building. She wondered if there was a 
sign over the entrance, "All ye who enter here, 
leave hope behind/' but she felt as if she had 
lost her hope ages ago. Opening the door of 
the judge's room she awoke from her calm de- 
spair with a sudden start and moan. Standing 
just inside, with all the love in his eyes which 
had ever been in his heart had she but known 
it, was her old school friend. With no thought 
for any one else in the room he took her in his 
arms, shielding her piteous white face from the 
gaze of the curious as best he could. When 
the hot tears came to her eyes he did not try 
to check them; perhaps they would wash away 
some of the anguish and pain she had been en- 
during. 

134 



A Romance of the Juvenile Court 



There was no need of explanations or woo- 
ing between those two, who understood each 
other's heart as their own. The sweetest and 
best love is always most expressive in silence. 
After the court adjourned Judge M per- 
formed the marriage ceremony. The babies 
had found a home and father, and to Emily 
had come God's best angel — Love. 



135 



REDEEMED 

It was an Ideal Easter Sunday; the sky 
was cloudless, the sunshine agreeably mellow, 
and, excepting now and then a passing femi- 
nine costume of resplendent hues, the morning 
seemed to palpitate with peaceful, soothing In- 
fluences. Over on State Street a man with an 
old-young face was slowly coming out of a 
saloon where he had been washing down the 
warmed-over corn-beef hash served at the free- 
lunch counter with some stale beer. Standing 
in the doorway with his hands In his pockets, 
he looked quietly up and down the street. To 
the left was a low, degrading penny arcade and 
cheap noisy museum; to the right was a dance- 
hall whose lights had not long been extin- 
guished. Across the street was a tenement 
136 



Redeemed 



building, where lived — well, really he could not 
count the different nationalities which huddled 
together within its walls. 

His surroundings were clearly a part of the 
devil's own playground; but as they did not 
offer any particular diversion to him at this time 
of the day, and the odors were Increasing his 
headache, he decided to saunter over toward the 
lake for a breath of fresh air. He might be 
able to "touch" some loiterer on the benches 
for the price of another drink, or at least find 
an old fellow who would share his morning 
paper with him. He rather prided himself — 
as drowning men catch at a straw — in his ability 
to keep up an interest in the affairs of a world 
which had misused him, or, as he was wont to 
declare to convivial strangers over the bar, *'had 
kicked him down almost Into the gutter." 

It was not until he was passing the Audi- 
torium, and saw the announcement of preach- 
ing services by one of the city's famous clergy- 
men, that he realized it was Easter, but along 
137 



Where Life is Real 



with many other forgotten things was the sig- 
nificance of the day. To his annoyance all the 
seats on the lake front were occupied, no 
friendly eye met his, and papers were harder 
to find than food when one is hungry. An hour 
later, feeling discouraged and lonesome, he 
walked back on the same street. This time he 
found great crowds passing through the Audi- 
torium doors, some almost fighting for entrance, 
begging seats or only standing-room, and others 
waiting breathless in their hope of admittance. 
Wonderingly the wayfarer leaned against a bill- 
board ; he had received a new sensation in watch- 
ing people — men — so eager to go to church. A 
man who could preach in the largest hall in the 
city was certainly a master among men; how 
full of power must be his message to draw such 
a great crowd ! 

Pulling his hat on straight and arranging 

his collar, he started for the doors, led by an 

impulse of admiration, curiosity, or the desire 

to kill time, he did not know which. He was 

138 



Redeemed 



glad the place was well illuminated — a dim 
cathedral light would have made him feel un- 
comfortable — and, taking a seat, he also felt 
relieved to see only a few lilies on the chancel 
rail; flowers In a church were too much like 
funerals. His eyes wandered over the faces 
around him, then upwards to the very highest 
tier of seats, where an old white-haired man sat, 
peacefully waiting for the service to begin. The 
man below stirred uneasily. How like, how 
very like the old man was to his own father, 
who probably now was sitting In a little church 
miles away, and his only son might have been 
with him If he had not chosen another path In 
life. If he had not followed what proved to be 
a mirage Instead of an oasis. 

The choir began to sing, and as the anthem 
reached him with Its soft echoing Insistence, 
the man sat very still, gazing ahead with wide 
fixed stare, but seeing and hearing nothing but 
the words of the refrain: "Why seek ye the 
living among the dead, O mistaken one; why 
139 



Where Life is Real 



seek ye the living among the dead?" He 
dropped his head slightly, and began to think. 
Yes, he was the mistaken one; he had been 
searching for life, power, and even love, among 
the bones and skeletons of the dead, and what 
had been the result? 

He had graduated from that Southern Uni- 
versity with honors, which meant something in 
engineering circles, and he had settled in this 
city because, even if not as large as New York, 
It was a pretty good place in which to make 
a living. Immediately he had put his letter In 
a church, attended their weekly services, and 
joined the Young Men's Christian Association. 
At his boarding-place the people were kind and 
pleasant, concealing as best they could their sur- 
prise that a young man "so good-looking, so 
really clever," should be religious. The first 
winter was dull and lonely, the evenings were 
long, and a big city's demand for money was 
always in his ears and before his eyes. The 
cordial Invitations of his landlady to join the 
140 



Redeemed 



other boarders at cards in her parlor tempted 
him, and quickly he had learned the different 
games they played. Then some of the boys at 
the office began to ask him what he did Satur- 
day nights. "Why not join their poker club? 
The stakes were not high, but they gave the 
lucky ones a little extra coin." 

After awhile it was not only the last night, 
but all other nights of the week, which found 
him playing cards for money. Yes, he had said 
to himself, it was money that moved and com- 
manded the world; he should have it and then 
power. The thought so thrilled him he insisted 
the stakes should be raised. 

About this time there entered his life a 
woman with the eyes of a saint and the 
mouth of a pagan, whose complex emotions and 
nature, with their peculiar mingling of snow and 
fire, attracted, repelled, and finally held him 
prisoner. To win her he must have money, 
for her desires and ambitions were of such a 
height that his own were lost in trying to reach 
9 HI 



Where Life is Real 



them. There had been another woman, or 
rather girl, in his old home who was a sweet 
dreamer, a Heloise returned to earth, whose 
love was idealistic, but not magnetic and en- 
thralling. As usual his fate was the same as 
that of other men who play cards for money 
and a woman. The opportunity to * 'borrow" 
from his firm was accepted, and when the dis- 
covery was made, only the influence of an old 
friend saved him from a long visit to another 
city. 

After this occurred, the woman ceased to 
recognize him, good positions could not be 
found, his letters home ceased, and he was 
lost. He never stopped to think, but took a 
drink instead. He had been walking among 
the dead, where only sin, disaster, ruin, and 
sorrow existed, and he had been such a fool 
as to believe he would find life in that cemetery 
of wasted energies, lost hopes, stunned am- 
bitions, and crushing forces. The words of the 
preacher interrupted his bitter memories: 
142 



Redeemed 



"There are only two important factors In this 
world — yourself and GodJ* Was that really 
so? Could he believe It? Was it possible to 
redeem the past and begin anew ? As the bene- 
diction was pronounced he bowed his head in 
humble acquiescence to the question in his heart. 
Yes, he would return to the old father, who 
trembled with longing and apprehension at the 
sound of his son's name; he would kiss again 
the mother whose heart was breaking under the 
cruelest of sorrows — disappointment In her 
dearest; and the other — yes, when he was more 
worthy of a great and faithful love, he would 
hold her in his arms; and after that there would 
be only left to him. Heaven, As he slowly 
walked out In the sunshine he knew that at last 
there had come to one human soul the glorious 
springtime and resurrection. 



143 



WHEN DREAMS ARE FALSE 

It was a hot Sunday morning In July, and 
the occupants of a crowded apartment build- 
ing were sleeping heavily after the night of 
restless tossing and futile search for a coveted 
breeze. In the hall bed-room on the third floor 
a weary little seamstress was dreaming, for on 
her pale face was the enraptured look of one 
who is seeing joyous visions — "And he held me 
close in his arms and kissed me just the way I 
have always wanted the right man to kiss me, 
and he said : ^Sweetheart, I would not have you 
younger or different. You are just yourself, and 
surely no other woman could be half as sweet.' " 
The rest of the beautiful things she knew her 
dear dream-lover was going to say were inter- 
rupted by the fretful crying of children in the 
144 



When Dreams are False 



next room, and the rough, impatient commands 
of their parents. Slowly the drowsy woman 
opened her eyes, and then very quickly closed 
them as if the reality of her awakening had 
made a harsher discord to her dreams than she 
could well bear. 

It seem.ed almost cruel to her that the one 
hour of the week she had for an extra rest and 
a delightful drifting away to the happy land 
of dreams should be so ruthlessly snatched 
away. She did not realize that her entire life 
was lived in that imaginative world where all 
hungry hearts create the beauty and love they 
so ardently crave. Circumstances had com- 
pelled her to make her living by sewing, and 
all human loves had passed her by, leaving her 
friendless and alone ; but through all the dreari- 
ness of the years she had remained an idealist. 
When her needle flashed in and out of the pretty 
things she was making for another, or as she 
bravely faced each extreme of the weather, she 
would smile and say to herself: "This is only 
145 



Where Life is Real 



for a short time. It won't — it can't last always. 
Sometime I shall surely belong to one who will 
love me and make me happy the way other 
women are happy." 

On this morning she was glad to the heart 
because she could spend the day in the park, 
away from toil and environment which was 
sordid and rasping. After dressing carefully, 
she looked steadily in the glass. It was not 
vanity which held her glance there, but a quiet 
mingling of curiosity and courage. She won- 
dered intensely what others saw in her face, 
and she feared to know because of the pain it 
might bring her. Her wistful eyes and sensi- 
tive mouth piteously spoke to their reflection 
in the mirror: '^O, don't grow old just yet! 
Stay young and merry a little while longer. 
Please — please do. So many things may hap- 
pen soon — yes, perhaps to-day — and then how 
glad you will be. Do n't even look 'almost 
young' — why, that is pitiful too. Keep fresh 
and pretty, for you have not had your rights 
146 



When Dreams are False 



yet — no, nor any of those sweet, blessed priv- 
ileges of youth. O, wait just a little longer 
before you make me old." Sighing, she turned 
away. If only the dear, anticipated change 
would come soon; if only — ^but must she al- 
ways keep on saying, "If only?" Forty years 
was such a long time to wait for happiness; 
but she might have felt comforted, for hope 
and expectation had hidden fully ten years of 
her age. Is it not right that the years of life 
should bow before the sweet, undaunted spirit 
who will not be crushed? 

Out in the park she ate all the little dry 
lunch prepared for her, read the morning paper, 
and then sauntered over to the great flower- 
beds surrounding the conservatory. What a 
glowing mass of color they made! Crimson 
dahlias, holding up regal heads; waving mi- 
gnonette, whispering sweet perfume; the tender 
little faces of pansies, — how she wished they 
would talk and tell her their pretty secrets! 
As if her thought had been read, some one be- 
147 



Where Life is Real 



side her said quietly, ''Flowers are our silent 
friends." The voice was pleasant and gentle. 
Eagerly she turned and looked Into the smiling 
eyes of a tall, gray-haired man, whom she sud- 
denly felt that she had known always. "He 
has seen life," she said to herself; "but he has 
conquered, for his face has remained kind and 
good. Surely it would not be wrong to talk 
to him a little while." Somehow their chat 
lengthened until the approaching shadows 
warned her It was time to go, and then he asked 
so courteously if he could not ride home with 
her that she felt it would be silly and rude to 
refuse. At the door he gave her his card, say- 
ing he was employed at a well-known wholesale 
house, and she gave him perroisslon to call. 

After that day the whole world changed for 
the little seamstress. First she took a little 
of her savings and bought a rocking-chair, a 
pretty plant and gay cushion for the parlor of 
her landlady, who, although only the coarse, 
noisy wife of a big, red-haired policeman, had 
148 



When Dreams are False 



often craved a "love affair'* for her boarder. 
Then she staid home two days, with never a 
pang for the money she was relinquishing, and 
made a pretty new gown. It would not do to 
welcome her first caller in a dress which was 
shabby and old-fashioned, or else — the fear 
brought a chill to her heart — he might not 
come again. However, there was no need for 
worry, because he soon made it very evident 
he enjoyed coming to see her, and on his 
fourth visit he asked her to marry him. Con- 
fident in the love and rapture which filled her 
heart she had answered softly, "I have been 
waiting for you all my life." 

The summer days passed quickly by, and 
there was little time for dreaming; but what 
of that, when all her roseate fancies were be- 
coming blissful realities? At five o'clock in 
the morning she was up and taking her phys- 
ical culture exercises, besides doing many other 
little things which only women understand; to 
make herself dainty and charming. The even- 
149 



Where Life is Real 



ings he did not come she read and studied, hop- 
ing to make herself worthy of him mentally. 
"After we are married," he had said to her, 
"you shall devote all your time to the arts. 
Though I found you in a bed of roses, my rose 
of the world, I shall transplant you to a home 
across the sea where all the beauties of the 
heavens and the joys of the earth may be 
yours. 'Our lives shall flow on like a dream — 
in one eternal kiss.' " For a moment she had 
felt awed and stifled. Why did he always talk 
like the lovers in books instead of simply as 
a man in love would? It was about this time 
that the landlady began to wish things for the 
little seamstress. What kind of a sweetheart 
was he, never to take her anywhere or bring her 
a little present? "Talking ain't the only way to 
make love," she had once suggested to the 
couple; but her hint had not been noticed. 

The first of August the lover borrowed ten 
dollars of his "cherished one,'* but his explana- 
tion that the canceling of a debt of honor had 
150 



When Dreams are False 



left him low In funds fully satisfied the loving 
little woman, and when a few days later he 
told her that the next night he was going to 
bring her the beautiful engagement ring which 
was to be "the outward pledge of a mutual 
love," she was only too proudly happy to help 
him get the right size by loaning him the large 
blue diamond, with its old-fashioned setting, 
which had once been her grandfather's. It was 
hard to tell, when the important evening ar- 
rived, which of the two women in the tiny flat 
were the most excited. The little seamstress 
had spent two hours in dressing, and it still 
lacked an hour before he would come. The 
landlady alternately yelled to the children to 
behave, and ran to the window to see if "he" 
was in sight. Trying to be calm, the radiant 
little woman took up the evening paper, but 
the words were only a jumble, until suddenly 
she saw his pictured face, which, for a news- 
paper cut, was a vivid likeness. Very much 
startled she began to read — but why relate the 
151 



Where Life is Real 



details of his shameful story? Her lover (he 
had spent most of his life In a penitentiary) 
had been arrested because, In making love to 
many women, he had Induced them, with his 
suave manner and pleasant ways, to part with 
their jewelry and various sums of money. Be- 
fore she could realize all the bitter truth, merci- 
ful unconsciousness came to her. In the morn- 
ing she found this letter tucked under the door : 
**Farewell, my jewel of great price. Our union 
was not to be because a higher power hath In- 
tervened." At the bottom of the page was 
hastily written, "I liked you better than any of 
the others." 

Trembling, the little seamstress unlocked a 
small drawer In the dresser and laid her only 
love-letter away. There was no need to look 
In the mirror now. Youth had kept faith with 
her, but how cruel had been its reward! Her 
romance had come and gone, and down through 
the long, lonely way before her she would hear 
the soft echo of her sad heart — "If only." 
152 



FATE 

The day he was born was the proudest, 
happiest day of their whole lives. It almost 
seemed too good to be true that the child they 
had prayed for and wanted so much had 
really come, that the queer little breathing 
bundle of flannel lying on the bed was their 
son — the living embodiment of a perfect love. 
Already they had been given strength, beauty, 
and great wealth; and now, with the won- 
drous gift of a little human soul to care for, 
their joy was complete. As the father gazed 
with dim eyes and full heart Into the tiny 
face lying like a crumpled rose on the beau- 
tiful young mother's arm, he wished. If the 
tender thoughts floating through his mind could 
be considered actual desires, that his little son 
153 



Where Life is Real 



would inherit all the sweetness and truth of the 
gentle mother's nature. The mother reached 
up one soft white hand and patted the father's 
cheek and then the little rosy one beside her. 
**He must be just like you, dear," she said, look- 
ing with adoring eyes at the two she loved best 
in all the world, "a strong, brave, honest man." 
When the child was three years old he 
looked like one of Raphael's cherubs. The 
round, innocent face, the eyes so blue and 
appealing, the wee sunshiny curls, tempted 
every one to exclamations of delight, while his 
sweet baby prattle won their hearts. About 
the time he was six years old, the happy, 
loving parents received the first shock. Their 
lovely little darling could not get on with his 
nurse. He was so naughty and willful, she 
had declared, that she could not manage him 
any longer. It was decided that a firm young 
man, a college graduate, an old friend of the 
father's, should come and be the child's tutor. 
Surely, thought the surprised parents, under 
154 




'He was Naughty and Willful.' 



Fate 

such careful guidance and skillful discipline 
their little one could be led out of his trying 
ways. For four years the young man did his 
best for the child. Many times, worn out 
and discouraged, he had wanted to leave the 
beautiful home which was having its first trial; 
but the parents' pleadings z,nd the boy's own 
promises to be good and not give any more 
trouble would decide him to remain. Not once, 
but often, did he creep from his bed in the 
middle of the night to follow the straying foot- 
steps of his little charge. When some of his 
favorite books were destroyed he said nothing, 
but when the carriage-house was set on fire "just 
for fun," the father said a good many things 
and the mother cried for hours. 

On the child's tenth birthday the household 
knew that a radical change would have to be 
made in the boy's life. His parents and his 
tutor could not control him ; some one else would 
have to try. After many anxious, prayerful 
days, the sad father took his son to a Boys' 
157 



Where Life is Real 



Home School, where he hoped the contact with 
other boys, the regular living, the wise super- 
intendent, and his magnetic wife would cause 
the child to turn over a new leaf. For a time 
everything went well; he seemed pleased with 
the change; he found many admirers among the 
other boys, and, for a wonder, rather enjoyed 
being good. After a few months, however, 
his old self returned, and many were the cares 
and worries of the superintendent in conse- 
quence. When on the point of sending him 
home, the parents would write such piteous let- 
ters of entreaty for one more trial, and the child 
would beg so sweetly for forgiveness, that they 
continued to keep him. Again and again the 
boy would run away from school "to see the 
world;" frequently boyish treasures of others, 
or household silver, would be found among his 
belongings, but little would be said about It. 

When he was fourteen he robbed the village 
post-office. The father came quickly In great 
shame, and placed the wayward lad on a large 
158 



Fate 

tralnlng-ship, where the vigorous life and hard 
duties might perhaps make a man of him. 

After many attempts to escape, the boy 
finally succeeded, and nothing more was heard 
from him. 

The mother, once beautiful and young, be- 
came a white-faced, broken-hearted woman. 
All hope of finding her lost boy was given up, 
and she died with his name on her lips. 

The father still kept up a search; but his 
hair turned whiter every year, and his face 
more drawn and sorrowful. 

^bout the time the boy would be twenty- 
one, the superintendent of the Boys' School 
was spending his summer vacation in one of 
the Eastern coast towns. Happening one day 
to pass a low sailors' saloon, he was startled 
by the angry cries and loud curses of the 
men within. Fearing something wrong might 
occur, he rushed into the place and saw a 
man bend over a card table and stab another. 
Some one leaped from behind the bar and laid 
lo 159 



Where Life is Real 



the dead man on the floor, while the murderer 
bowed his head on the table groaning aloud. 
As quickly as he had committed the awful deed, 
so quickly had remorse overtaken him. His 
anguish caused the teacher to lay a gentle hand 
on his shoulder. The yellow, curly head was 
slowly raised, and a pair of frightened blue eyes 
met the teacher's. Alas ! he was the boy whose 
birth had once brought such joy and pride to 
the loving hearts of his parents. 

The father died before the news of his son's 
last disgraceful act was brought to him. 

A merciful Providence, under the shield of 
the death angel's wing, had spared him the 
shame and bitter agony. 



i6o 



BESIDE THE SEA 

Even when a little child living with two 
self-contained, unemotional aunts in a color- 
less, dreary Vermont town, miles away from 
the whispering echoes and changing tints, sto- 
ries of the sea had vividly fascinated her. 
Almost her first amusement in a home, where 
the theories and principles of living had com- 
pletely choked love and its spontaneous expres- 
sions, was the privilege of sitting on a hair- 
cloth sofa looking at the pictures of the vari- 
ous bodies of water shown in the big atlas. It 
was a little difficult to retain her slippery seat, 
manage the awkward book, and memorize the 
names of all the important rivers, lakes, and 
oceans in the world, but when this was finally 

accomplished she was very proud. Indeed, not 
i6i 



Where Life is Real 



even her new purple dress at Christmas or the 
huge apple she had made in wax for Aunt Lu- 
cinda's birthday had given her so much satis- 
faction. When she went to school and was able 
to do her share in keeping up the custom of 
"speaking pieces," her choice was invariably 
"The Wreck of the Hesperus'* or something 
similarly suggestive of the tragedies on the sea. 
It was not until they had opened an old 
chest in the attic in search of a prized recipe 
for dyeing curtains, and unpacked to the child's 
ardent delight a sailor's suit, an old compass, 
and some curious shells which once were the 
property of their uncle, that the aunts discov- 
ered there was anything unusual in her wonder- 
ful love for the sea. It seemed to them a mor- 
bid peculiarity, but they thought, as did all but 
one other in the village, that she would outgrow 
"this freakish way." The tender, sympathetic 
heart which came so near to understanding the 
child's was her Sunday-school teacher, who re- 
solved that when she went "away out West" 
162 



Beside the Sea 



to be the wife of the man she loved, a light- 
house keeper on Lake Michigan, that the little 
one should make her a long visit. 

The coveted Invitation from her teacher 
came when the child was eleven years old, and 
with It was sent the necessary means for trans- 
portation. The aunts thought they were very 
generous when they purchased two new plaid 
merinos for the trip, which were made suitably 
large for the next few years; even their thrifty 
New England minds could not Imagine the self- 
denying economies which had provided the rail- 
road ticket. 

That first day beside the lake the child 
never forgot. The world seemed to her a 
paradise. Behind her was an orchard, where 
the birds were having In their home, all shielded 
and perfumed with apple-blossoms, a high car- 
nival. Their glad notes. In perfect harmony 
with the pink and white petals fluttering on the 
trees, seemed to vibrate to the happy beating of 
her heart. Stretching away out before her, as 
163 



Where Life is Real 



if trying to reach the great, golden blossoms 
of the sun, was the lake. How strange and 
grand and beautiful It was ! Her heart danced 
to the music of the waves. Every tender, 
changing hue of the water suggested some sweet 
fancy; suddenly with a new reverent love she 
felt close to God. 

The lighting of the great lamp brought 
fresh excitement every evening, and when she 
was allowed to kindle It, sending Its glowing 
rays of safety over the dark waters, she felt 
unspeakable joy. 

The visit at her teacher's home lasted three 
months, and then she was called back to Ver- 
mont to bury one aunt and take care of the 
other until, after seven years of hopeless, dreary 
duty, she was left alone with live hundred 
dollars and only her Michigan friends to pro- 
tect her. Returning again to their lighthouse 
home, she found two strangers, a merry little 
blue-eyed boy, who crowed and laughed even 
in the wildest and most relentless of storms, 
164 



Beside the Sea 



and a tall, broad-shouldered man, the light- 
house keeper's brother, who cared for the water 
even as she did. His courage when the lake 
was in a harsh mood won her admiration, and 
gradually, as their happiness in being together 
deepened, they learned that the true meaning of 
life was Love. 

The lighthouse only provided a living for 
one family, so the young lover became pilot 
for a large lumber-boat, determined that it 
would not be long before he could give his 
sweetheart a real home of her own. The 
Master Pilot, however, had other plans for her, 
and on a dark night there was one of those 
cruel storms on the lake which become his- 
tory, and which can not be stilled by any 
human hand or voice. To look on the dead 
face of her beloved, to get the last touch of 
him into her very being that she might feel 
it there when her eyes would yearn for him 
and could not see him, and her heart ache for 
him and not be comforted, was denied her; for 
165 



Where Life is Real 



the water, baffling and mysterious, never gave 
up his body. 

The following year her friends at the light- 
house moved to Chicago; but the thought of 
living in a crowded, noisy city, separated from 
the calm, soothing heart of Nature, seemed to 
her unbearable, and so, with the supreme 
effort of a soul almost desperate, she wrote 
to the authorities at Washington beseeching 
the position of lighthouse keeper at South 
Chicago. It was an unusual plea, for a woman 
had never held such a position before, and 
the post was a lonely, isolated one, while 
the accommodations were so meager that the 
keeper was obliged to board on the beach over 
a mile from the light. 

In time her request was granted, and for 
several years, until better arrangements were 
made, she walked many times daily over the 
long, broken pier, attending to her duties. The 
work to any other woman would have seemed 
hard, but to her It was life. In the silent hours 
i66 




The Lighthouse. 



Beside the Sea 



of the night, when watching the twinkling, ap- 
proaching lights of boats far out on the water, 
she wondered what dread disasters the golden 
beams of her light were saving them from. 
When the wind came up with furious Impetu- 
osity, and all Nature raged, she was thrilled to 
exaltation ; or again, when there was a soft hush 
over the water, when even the birds were quiet 
and the clouds seemed to breathe a benediction, 
then she felt so near to her lover that their souls 
seemed as one. 

The years passed by, and she continued to 
make her home on what she knew was "God's 
own domain." When old age came to her she 
would have a comfortable sum in the bank, 
for she had been most careful of her money, 
and she would go to Waukegan to live with the 
big, manly son of her former teacher. The 
news of his death at El Caney came to her just 
before the failure of the bank which held her 
savings. Through the belated kindness of the 
directors of the bank she has been enabled to 
169 



Where Life is Real 



enter the Old Ladles' Home. After she had 
told me the story of her life, and shown the pic- 
tures of the sweetheart who had been taken 
from her, and the brave soldier boy who she 
had hoped would take care of her to the end, 
she leaned her white head on my arm, and said 
In a soft, trembling voice, *'But I can still say, 
Thy will be done; " 



170 



FROM A HOSPITAL WARD 

There was not the slightest doubt that 
something unusual was about to occur In the 
red brick house adjoining one of the largest 
hospitals In the city. All day happy nurses 
in their striped gowns and white caps, with 
their arms full of bundles, had been running 
across the stone yard which separated the two 
buildings. Even staid and peaceful nuns. In 
long, flowing, black garments, walked back and 
forth faster than their custom, and smiled 
quite merrily at each other. When the caterer's 
and florist's wagons drove up to the "Nurses' 
Home" the joyous excitement within reached 
Its height. Later, when night's darkness had 
fallen and two carriages arrived, leaving from 
one a gentleman In clerical suit, a soft hush 
171 



Where Life is Real 



was felt in the air, which seemed to deepen 
and grow sweeter until suddenly there burst 
from the house a crowd of laughing young 
nurses and doctors, who hastened to the other 
carriage, almost completely filling it with 
flowers. Into this lovely bower there soon en- 
tered a young couple whose faces were fairly 
illuminated with happiness and love. Several 
times they tried to say something to the merry, 
excited ones surrounding them, but they found 
they could only look into each other's eyes and 
smile, which was all their friends wanted them 
to do. When at last the carriage door was 
shut, a shout went up from a rear porch of the 
great hospital, "Three cheers for our bride and 
groom!'* It was the farewell of the cooks, 
maids, and elevator boys of the building, who 
were glad thus to show their appreciation of the 
sweet and tender romance which had bloomed 
within those walls of pain and suffering. But 
every love-story has a beginning. 

Once there had been four members in a 
172 



From a Hospital Ward 



modest, devoted little family out on the south 
side of the city; but the only son had been 
"among those killed" in a small railroad ac- 
cident, and the father, after a long, expensive 
illness, had passed away, leaving his one little 
daughter to comfort the crushed and grieving 
mother. If only their home had been entirely 
paid for; If only "father" had been persuaded 
to carry a life Insurance; If only — ^but how 
many bereaved hearts have sighed those words 
so helplessly and sorrowfully I — the future 
might not have stared back at them pitiless 
and empty. School-days, with all their little 
pleasures and stimulating competitions, were 
over for the daughter at the end of her second 
year In high school. All hope of ever being 
a schoolteacher, with a "magnificent salary to 
support mother," was dropped Into that grave, 
deep yet never full, where many thousands have 
been obliged to leave their sweetest desires, 
highest ambitions, and ardent hopes. 

When one pair of young hands could make 
173 



Where Life is Real 



seven, perhaps ten, dollars every week, there 
was only one right thing to do, and that was, 
to let them work. As an attendant in a busy 
dentist^s office the seventeen-year-old girl began 
her struggles with the world. It was harder 
than even mother, with tender eyes and loving 
sympathy, imagined it could be at first, and not 
the least of her trials was the necessity of con- 
quering the faintness and repulsion v/hich swept 
over her at the sight of patients in the doctor's 
chair. 

The most cruel blows dealt us generally 
come at once. We go completely down sud- 
denly and surely, and then can go no farther. 
Happy the strong soul who does not remain 
with face hidden in the abyss of misery to 
which it has fallen, but can arise and say with 
lifted eyes, *'The worst has happened and — 
is over.'' 

One evening the young girl returned to find 
her mother in that everlasting sleep which 
leaves no farewells. A few weeks after this 
174 



From a Hospital Ward 



she noticed a strange lump on her foot, which 
rapidly began to swell and grow painful. When 
she had consulted two physicians she accepted 
the fact that she would have to live her life on 
crutches — on crutches! It was not enough to 
serve eight long hours at her work down-town, 
but to meet new obligations she was compelled 
to give up her evenings by attending a group of 
physicians* rooms in her own neighborhood. 
Many, many nights, exhausted with pain and 
weariness, she could only sleep in short, fitful 
intervals. 

She was in her twenty-second year when 
she attracted the attention and admiration of 
a trained nurse who had come to the dentist's 
office. Her patience and cheerfulness under 
such pitiful conditions, her loyalty to her work, 
her eyes with their appealing glance, moved 
the nurse to more than a vague passing desire 
to help her. Thus it is only when our kindly 
impulses become something else beside whims 
and caprices that we are able to affect the lives 
175 



Where Life is Real 



of others. Through the nurse's influence the 

big and famous Dr. M was induced to try 

his skill — gratuitously given — on the crippled 
girl. It took two months to determine the suc- 
cess of his operation, and during that time the 
entire hospital force and many of the patients, 
aroused from their monotony and pain, became 
interested in the young woman. Her little acts 
of thoughtfulness and messages to other suffer- 
ing ones, her stories and laughter during her 
convalescent period, her sweet, unselfish heart 
which had learned to breathe for others, won 
every one who met her. 

At the beginning of the third month, when 
it was no longer necessary for her to remain 
at the hospital, the nurses decided that, what- 
ever excuse had to be given, she must stay 
over at their own Home a few weeks longer. 
This was just exactly what a young doctor, 
who had become, through his own ability and 
faithfulness, the head assistant to the great 
surgeon, wished to happen. He wanted to be 
176 



From a Hospital Ward 



near her several times every day, so that he 
could tell her over and over again certain things 
which had occurred to him when she was his 
patient. However, even this arrangement was 
not satisfactory ; there were so many continually 
surrounding his sweetheart, and the interrup- 
tions to his love-making were so frequent and 
disturbing. Only as his wife, in their own little 
home, could she be altogether his — ^but this Is 
the end of the story. 



177 



LOVE ETERNAL 

It was a pale, frightened gleam of winter 
sunshine which had crept into Kirby's room 
that early morning, but the man who lay in 
bed watching its shy approach wanted to 
throw out his arms in welcome and thanks- 
giving. So stimulating and necessary had the 
sun's evasive warmth become to him that he 
felt, after a week of cruel sleet and danger- 
ous wind had kept him a prisoner in a small 
rented room, that perhaps he might be able 
to go down to his office. Weak and fumb- 
ling he began to pull on his clothes, wishing 
there was more heat in the room, and deter- 
mined that his strength should stand the ordeal 
of dressing. Before he could fasten his collar 

a relentless paroxysm of coughing shook him 
178 



Love Eternal 



all over, and he sank into the nearest chair cry- 
ing hoarsely, "It *s no use." 

Later the postman^s ring aroused him, but 
when the maid failed to slip a letter under his 
door he resumed his bitter reverie. 

"No, she has not written, and probably will 
not until I have forced myself to dash off 
some more lies to her — 'business picking up' — 
*new clients coming in' — 'banquet last night' — 
*cough almost vanished.' Talk about imagina- 
tion ; but she Is piqued any way that I have not 
praised her for all those stunts she did last 
week." 

Reaching toward his table he gathered to- 
gether a bundle of New York newspapers, and 
glanced over their head-lines. "Beatrice Moore 
makes trial trip on torpedo boat!" "Beatrice 
Moore vividly describes new subway!" "Rich- 
est man in the United States gives Beatrice 
Moore an Interview!" With a strained smile 
he laid aside the papers, and took from an inner 
pocket a photograph. What he saw In the plc- 
179 



Where Life is Real 



tured face changed his expression to tenderest 
love and ardent yearning. "Ah, you sweet, 
sweet woman, you have conquered the news- 
paper world of the big metropolis; you have 
made them all sit up and stare ; you have worked 
hard, but you have kept up that dear little 
smile until you are the highest paid newspaper 
woman in this country, earning more in one 
week than the poor, helpless wretch you are 
engaged to can collect In a month. I am proud 
of you. Yes, my clever girl, I know you are 
a bewitching wonder, but I would rather have 
you here with me, belonging to me as my wife, 
than receiving all the homage and coin old New 
iYork editors can give you. It Is selfish, but I 
need you so; and once applause did not satisfy 
you until you had my kisses." 

The picture was put away, and the man 
sat quietly thinking of the time when he had 
first understood Beatrice. They were children 
skating on the little river which ran through 
their Iowa town when suddenly one of their 
1 80 



Love Eternal 



playmates fell through the Ice. Before the 
others had thought what to do, Beatrice, with 
the assistance of her long fur scarf, had dragged 
the child out of the water. The frightened 
children on the bank began to clap; but, only 
flashing them a happy smile, she had run quickly 
to Kirby, and, throwing herself into his arms, 
cried, "You didn't clap, and It hurts." How 
characteristic that act was, he thought; how 
impulsive she was; but always dependent on his 
love, until the last few months when she had 
become so prominent in the journalistic world! 
He might as well give her up, he concluded, 
bowing his head on the table; that terrible 
cough, his enervated condition, had about driven 
away all hopes of being anybody in his profes- 
sion. 

How long he remained in that dejected po- 
sition he did not know, for he had not heard 
the tapping on his door until it suddenly 
opened, and a merry voice, a sweet bubbling 
voice, % voice sent right from heaven, said 
i8i 



Where Life is Real 



softly, "Ah, my boy, my poor, poor boy!" and 
then he felt Beatrice close beside him. After 
a few moments she began to talk. There were 
no words needed from him; the cheerless 
room; the untasted dinner of the night before; 
the shabby overcoat on the foot of the bed, 
and, plainer still, the flushed face and chok- 
ing health of the man told his story. **You 
did not write or praise me, and I could not 
stand It there any longer — I simply had to come 
and see for myself," her glance swept around 
the room again, and she shuddered; "but I am 
not going back and leave you, dear lad — no, 
never — unless you do not want me any longer." 
The next day they were married, and all 
that week KIrby sat In the Morris chair giv- 
ing laughing directions about their packing, 
and looking over time-tables. What Beatrice 
said In her telegram to the "Big Man" he did 
not care to learn, for she was always near him 
now, sitting on the arm of his chair, rubbing 
her cheek against his, or chattering about the 
182 



Love Eternal 



future. At first she called their life out in 
the mountains a joke. Their home was only 
a pretense of a house; but what else did they 
need, when they lived out-doors most of the 
time? she asked. After two years their little 
girl was born, and then Beatrice laughed and 
talked less. To be sure Kirby was better; 
he would never be entirely well, but the fu- 
ture of the child troubled her, and the long 
silences and monotony in their lives gave her 
a wistful look. Once she had said, plaintively, 
"Boy, let us just pretend we hear footsteps 
on that path, to find out if we still have 
company manners." The business of getting 
his health back had so absorbed Kirby^s at- 
tention that their financial condition had been 
ignored until the day he discovered Beatrice 
at her roughly built desk looking over figures; 
then he realized sharply that it cost some- 
thing to live even on the side of a mountain. 
**We are up against it, lad; all the money is 
going out, and none is coming in; but perhaps 
183 



Where Life is Real 



the *BIg Man' will let me do some specials for 
him," she said, simply. 

For several weeks Beatrice's "Little Chats'* 
in the Home Department of her old paper 
paid their living expenses, and a series on 
"How to Keep a Husband's Love" settled the 
doctor's bill; but after a while even "the very 
nicest articles" were rejected, and then the situ- 
ation became desperate. "It was n't enough," 
said Kirby to himself on one of his long walks, 
"that she gave up the life she really loved, 
associating with the prominent men and women 
of the hour, achieving the success In her work 
that she craved, to marry a wreck like me; but 
now, out in this forsaken place, she has even 
to count the cost of a postage-stamp. It is 
going to be pretty hard for her to give tip the 
magazines and Sunday editions. Poor girl, how 
her face always shines when she starts on her 
pony for the post-office!" 

That their lonely poverty might eventually 

influence his wife to leave him and resume her 
184 



Love Eternal 



newspaper work did not occur to KIrby until 
he discovered how many hours she spent 
away from him in the woods back of the 
house, how sometimes at night he would hear 
her restlessly walking the floor. Many times 
he noticed she would drop her work and stand 
staring at the floor. When she seemed about 
to confide in him, a look of fear would come 
into her eyes and her lips shut determinedly. 
*'0, I know how it will be," thought the 
anguished Kirby as he lay out in his ham- 
mock one long afternoon (Beatrice had gone 
again to the post-ofiice). "She '11 get a strong, 
capable woman to come up here and take care 
of me; the little one can go to her sister's, and 
then she can go back to that paper. I '11 get 
sweet, breezy letters and generous checks from 
her until I drop off, and then — " but he never 
finished that thought, for there was a joyous 
shout down the mountain path, and quickly 
a disheveled, panting Beatrice, whose spark- 
ling eyes warmed his benumbed heart, precip- 
185 



Where Life is Real 



itated herself upon him. *'0, lad! Dearest! 
dearest ! My book Is accepted — I Ve been 
keeping it a secret from you — the publishers* 
say — ^you can read the letter — but anyway it 
IS a pretty sure thing that my royalties will 
keep us all together for many a day." Kirby 
bowed his head on the little dark one leaning 
over him. She must not see his tears, for in 
this one beautiful moment of her life he would 
appear to her not weak but strong. 



i86 



OCr 24 1906 



